I've been reading a lot lately about Indian captives. One woman who had been captured by the Indians and made a squaw was resentful when she was rescued because she'd found that there was a lot more work to do as the wife of a white man.

One cannot balance tragedy in the scales Unless one weighs it with the tragic heart.

I think a blog is a catalyst for a number of possible kinds of writing besides being its own medium.

If two New Hampshiremen aren't a match for the devil, we might as well give the country back to the Indians.

Grant us brotherhood, not only for this day but for all our years - a brotherhood not of words but of acts and deeds.

Honesty is as rare as a man without self-pity.

Books are not men and yet they are alive. They are man's memory and his aspiration, the link between his present and his past, the tools he builds with.