Most people are afraid to trust their imaginations and the artist is not.

I am a lover and have not found my thing to love.

What is to be got at to make the air sweet, the ground good under the feet, can only be got at by failure, trial, again and again and again failure.

On the trees are only a few gnarled apples that the pickers have rejected. They look like the knuckles of Doctor Reefy's hands. One nibbles at them and they are delicious. Into a little round place at the side of the apple has been gathered all its sweetness. One runs from tree to tree over the frosted ground picking the gnarled, twisted apples and filling his pockets with them. Only the few know the sweetness of the twisted apples.

In youth there are always two forces fighting in people. The warm unthinking little animal struggles against the thing that reflects and remembers

People keep on getting married. Evidently hope is eternal in the human breast.

There is this thing called life. We live it, not as we intend or wish, but as we are driven on by forces outside and inside ourselves.