The great fact was the land itself, which seemed to overwhelm the little beginnings of human society that struggled in its sombre wastes.

William Tavener never heeded ominous forecasts in the domestic horizon, and he never looked for a storm until it broke.

Artistic growth is, more than it is anything else, a refining of the sense of truthfulness.

I had killed a big snake. I was now a big fellow.

The stupid believe that to be truthful is easy; only the artist, the great artist, knows how difficult it is.

Setting ... is accident. Either a building is part of a place, or it is not. Once that kinship is there, time will only make it stronger.

On the farm the weather was the great fact, and men's affairs went on underneath it, as the streams creep under the ice.