The road recedes as the traveler advances, leaving a continuous present.

We have, of course, long since ceased to think of Nature as the sympathetic mirror of our moods, or to imagine that she has any concern with the temporal affairs of man.

The road recedes as the traveler advances, leaving a continuous present.

Organized Christianity has probably done more to retard the ideals that were its founder's than any other agency in the world.

There is something mean in human nature that prefers to think evil, that gives a willing ear and a ready welcome to calumny, a sort of jealousy of goodness and greatness and things of good report.

You can't fake it. Bad writing is a gift.

We are all treading the vanishing road of a song in the air, the vanishing road of the spring flowers and the winter snows, the vanishing roads of the winds and the streams, the vanishing road of beloved faces.