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.

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.

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

The more anybody wants a thing, the more they do think others want it.

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

The past is only the present become invisible and mute; and because it is invisible and mute, its memorized glances and its murmurs are infinitely precious. We are tomorrow's past.

For the world is founded and built up on death, and the reality of death is neither to be questioned nor feared. Death is a dark dream, but it is not a nightmare. It is mankind's lack of pity, mankind's fatal propensity for torture, that is the nightmare.