The air was cool enough to make the warm sun pleasant on one's back and shoulders, and so clear that the eye could follow a hawk up and up, into the blazing blue depths of the sky.

The emptiness was intense, like the stillness in a great factory when the machinery stops running.

Success is less interesting than struggle. There is great pleasure in the effort.

There are some things you learn best in calm, and some in storm.

Religion and art spring from the same root and are close kin.

In a few hours one could cover that incalculable distance; from the winter country and homely neighbours, to the city where the air trembled like a tuning-fork with unimaginable possibilities.

One January day, thirty years ago, the little town of Hanover, anchored on a windy Nebraska tableland, was trying not to be blown away.