I wonder if ever again Americans can have that experience of returning to a home place so intimately known, profoundly felt, deeply loved, and absolutely submitted to? It is not quite true that you can't go home again. I have done it, coming back here. But it gets less likely. We have had too many divorces, we have consumed too much transportation, we have lived too shallowly in too many places.

There is a sense in which we are all each other's consequences

After a day and a half or so the traveler will realize that crossing the continent by Interstate he gets to know the country about as well as a cable messenger knows the sea bottom.

Hope was always out ahead of fact, possibility obscured the outlines of reality.

Every green natural place we save saves a fragment of our sanity and gives us a little more hope that we have a future.

I consider the integrity of the material to be of greater value than any message I might want to get across.

I shall be richer all my life for this sorrow