The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity.

I like the scientific spirit-the holding off, the being sure but not too sure, the willingness to surrender ideas when the evidence is against them: this is ultimately fine-it always keeps the way beyond open.

The beautiful uncut hair of graves.

I will You, in all, Myself, with promise to never desert you, To which I sign my name.

A murmuring, fateful, giant voice, out of the earth and sky, Voice of a mighty dying tree in the Redwood forest dense.... [T]he wood-spirits came from their haunts of a thousand years, to join the refrain; But in my soul I plainly heard. Murmuring out of its myriad leaves, Down from its lofty top, rising two hundred feet high, Out of its stalwart trunk and limbs - out of its foot-thick bark, That chant of the seasons and time - chant, not of the past only, but of the future.

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear.

I see behind each mask that wonder a kindred soul.