Sometimes a neighbor whom we have disliked a lifetime for his arrogance and conceit lets fall a single commonplace remark that shows us another side, another man, really; a man uncertain, and puzzled, and in the dark like ourselves.

After all, the supreme virtue in all art is soul, perhaps it is the only thing which gives art a right to be.

The irregular and intimate quality of things made entirely by the human hand.

I shall not die of a cold. I shall die of having lived.

Personal hatred and family affection are not incompatible; they often flourish and grow strong together.

Of course Nebraska is a storehouse of literary material. Everywhere is a storehouse of literary material. If a true artist were born in a pigpen and raised in a sty, he would still find plenty of inspiration for his work. The only need is the eye to see.

Elsewhere the sky is the roof of the world; but here the earth was the floor of the sky.