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

It's the folks that depend on us for this and for the other that we most do miss.

Who can say which is the greater sign of creative power, the sun with its planet system swinging with governed impetus to some incalculable end, or the gold sallow catkin with its flashing system of little flies?

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.

Fragrance is the voice of inanimate things.

Nature's music is never over; her silences are pauses, not conclusions.