The past ... is a dim avenue down which we may walk and find the diverging paths of terror and beauty and passion.

God, what pathetic creatures had inherited the earth, to walk a little while with their eyes upon the stars and turn their gaze too soon upon the ground that held their feet!

Time passed so much more slowly than space.

There is too much doing - too little being! When we begin to get strenuous, life begins to grow intolerable.

By mid-morning a rain as fine as silk spills was weaving over the lake.

Here and there on the branch of an oak a congress of leaves still clung, rigid as flakes of bronze.

You have stirred the soil with your plow, my friend. It will never be the same again.