There is often a good deal of the child left in people who have had to grow up too soon.

The world is little, people are little, human life is little. There is only one big thing — desire.

But she still had that something which fires the imagination, could still stop one's breath for a moment by a look or gesture that somehow revealed the meaning in common things. She had only to stand in the orchard, to put her hand on a little crab tree and look up at the apples, to make you feel the goodness of planting and tending and harvesting at last. All the strong things of her heart came out in her body, that had been so tireless in serving generous emotions. It was no wonder that her sons stood tall and straight. She was a rich mine of life, like the founders of early races.

Our tree became the talking tree of the fairy tale; legends and stories nestled like birds in its branches.

This land was an enigma. It was like a horse that no one knows how to break to harness, that runs wild and kicks things to pieces.

It is easy to pity when once one's vanity has been tickled.

No nation has ever produced great art that has not made a high art of cookery, because art appeals primarily to the senses.