Nothing is invented and brought to perfection all at once.

Now nature is not at variance with art, nor art with nature; they being both the servants of his providence. Art is the perfection of nature. Were the world now as it was the sixth day, there were yet a chaos. Nat, are unconscious of the harmony of creation.

How I have walked... day after day, and all alone, to see if there was not something among the old things which was new!

The ills of discrimination are still with us. We have to continue the tenacity and vigilance of the 1960s. Racial understanding is not something we find; it's something we create.

To walk with nature as a poet is the necessary condition of a perfect artist.

How lovely are the portals of the night, when stars come out to watch the daylight die.

If I live to be old enough, I may sit down under some bush, the last left in the utilitarian world, and feel thankful that intellect in its march has spared one vestige of the ancient forest for me to die by.