Only themselves understand themselves and the like of themselves, As souls only understand souls.

There's no doubt that I've deserved my enemies, but I don't think I've deserved my friends.

All music is what awakes from you when you are reminded by the instruments. It is not the violins and the cornets-it is not the oboe nor the beating drums, nor the score of the baritone singer singing his sweet romanza-nor that of the women's chorus; it is nearer and farther than they.

I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.

Only themselves understand themselves and the like of themselves, As souls only understand souls.

O magnet-South! O glistening perfumed South! My South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! Good and evil! O all dear to me!