Love is like a wind stirring the grass beneath trees on a black night,' he had said. 'You must not try to make love definite. It is the divine accident of life. If you try to be definite and sure about it and to live beneath the trees, where soft night winds blow, the long hot day of disappointment comes swiftly and the gritty dust from passing wagons gathers upon lips inflamed and made tender by kisses.

The disease we all have and that we have to fight against all our lives is ... the disease of self.

The whole object of education is...to develop the mind. The mind should be a thing that works.

All good New Orleanians go to look at the Mississippi at least once a day. At night it is like creeping into a dark bedroom to look at a sleeping child--something of that sort--gives you the same warm nice feeling, I mean.

Everyone in the world is Christ and they are all crucified.

It is all right you're saying you do not need other people, but there are a lot of people who need you.

It was a cold day but the sun was out and the trees were like great bonfires against gray distant fields and hills.