Many people must live and die alone, even in Winesburg.

In that high place in the darkness the two oddly sensitive human atoms held each other tightly and waited. In the mind of each was the same thought. "I have come to this lonely place and here is this other," was the substance of the thing felt.

I feel that I am writing out of a full life. I am a rich man, rich in men known, in adventures had. I am rich with living.

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

I go about looking at horses and cattle. They eat grass, make love, work when they have to, bear their young. I am sick with envy of them.

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

The eighteen years he has lived seem but a moment, a breathing space in the long march of humanity. Already he hears death calling. With all his heart he wants to come close to some other human, touch someone with his hands, be touched by the hand of another.