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.

Nothing is invented and brought to perfection all at once.

None know how often the hand of God is seen in a wilderness but them that rove it for a man's life.

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.

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

Overall, rocks, wood and water, brooded the spirit of repose, and the silent energy of nature stirred the soul to its innermost depths.

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