April, the angel of the months, the young love of the year.

how poor and disheartening a thing is experience compared with hope!

But you, oh gardener, poet that you be / Though unaware, now use your seeds like words / And make them lilt with color nicely flung.

I do not like January very much. It is too stationary. Not enough happens. I like the evidences of life, and in January there are too few of them.

The public, as a whole, finds reassurance in longevity, and, after the necessary interlude of reaction, is disposed to recognize extreme old age as a sign of excellence. The long-liver has triumphed over at least one of man's initial handicaps: the brevity of life.

Travel is a private pleasure, since it consists entirely of things felt and things seen.

The writer catches the changes of his mind on the hop. Growth is exciting; growth is dynamic and alarming. Growth of the soul, growth of the mind.