We lie in the lap of immense intelligence.

Even in the mud and scum of things, something always, always sings.

The prayer of the farmer kneeling in his field to weed it, the prayer of the rower kneeling with the stroke of his oar, are true prayers heard throughout nature.

There is a tendency in things to right themselves, and the war or revolution or bankruptcy that shatters rotten system, allows things to take a new and natural order.

Four snakes gliding up and down a hollow for no purpose that I could see - not to eat, not for love, but only gliding.

All sensible people are selfish, and nature is tugging at every contract to make the terms of it fair.

It is very odd that Nature should be so unscrupulous. She is no saint . . .