She had for so many years been trying to be like other people, that she was now like nothing in heaven or earth.

The well of Providence is deep. It's the buckets we bring to it that are small.

There is surely no more unselfish person than the anthologist. For while all we others are striving to ensure our own immortality with eagerness, beguilements, buffooneries, loud voices, 'the sound of battle and garments rolled in blood,' the anthologist is quietly ensuring the immortality of somebody else.

Give me good digestion, Lord, And also something to digest; but where and how that something comes I leave to Thee, who knoweth best.

But when you dwell in a house you mislike, you will look out of a window a deal more than those that are content with their dwelling.

The love of nature is a passion for those in whom it once lodges. It can never be quenched. It cannot change. It is a furious, burning, physical greed, as well as a state of mystical exaltation. It will have its own.

We are tomorrow's past.