When a woman ceases to alter the fashion of her hair, you guess that she has passed the crisis of her experience.

You have to beat out for yourself many mornings on the windy headlands the sense of the fact that you get the same rainbow in the cloud drift over Waban and the spray of your garden hose. And not necessarily then do you live up to it.

Even the people who have it do not definitely know what genius is.

Man is a great blunderer going about in the woods, and there is no other except the bear makes so much noise.

When a woman ceases to alter the fashion of her hair, you guess that she has passed the crisis of her experience.

The desert floras shame us with their cheerful adaptations to the seasonal limitations. Their whole duty is to flower and fruit, and they do it hardly, or with tropical luxuriance, as the rain admits. ... One hopes the land may breed like qualities in her human offspring, not tritely to 'try,' but to do.

Life set itself to new processions of seed-time and harvest, the skin newly turned to seasonal variations, the very blood humming to new altitudes.