...the floss-silk manes tossed up like the crest of a breaking wave....Light ran and glittered on them. They were obedient...you would have sworn...as the white horses of the wave crests are to pull of the moon.

The place for truth is not in the facts of a novel; it is in the feelings.

Well, what was luck for if it was never to be tempted?

To plant a garden is the chief of the arts of peace.

I reached for sleep and drew it round me like a blanket muffling pain and thought together in the merciful dark

You never know how you'll turn out till you've been down to half a dollar and no prospects.

I sometimes think it's a mistake to have been happy when one was a child. One should always want to go on, not back.