Oh, give us pleasure in the orch-ard white, Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night.

The brain is a wonderful organ; it starts working the moment you get up in the morning and does not stop until you get into the office.

Nature's first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.

There is absolutely no reason for being rushed along with the rush. Everybody should be free to go slow.

A civilized society is one which tolerates eccentricity to the point of doubtful sanity.

I was under twenty when I deliberately put it to myself one night after good conversation that there are moments when we actually touch in talk what the best writing can only come near. The curse of our book language is not so much that it keeps forever to the same set phrases . . . but that it sounds forever with the same reading tones. We must go out into the vernacular for tones that haven't been brought to book.

The only certain freedom's in departure.