There is something frank and joyous and young in the open face of the country. It gives itself ungrudgingly to the moods of the season, holding nothing back.

Youth, art, love, dreams, true-heartedness - why must they go out of the summer world into darkness?

Dr. Howard Archie had just come up from a game of pool with the Jewish clothier and two traveling men who happened to be staying overnight in Moonstone.

I have not much faith in women in fiction.... Women are so horribly subjective and they have such scorn for the healthy commonplace. When a woman writes a story of adventure, a stout sea tale, a manly battle yarn, anything without wine, women, and love, then I will begin to hope for something great from them, not before.

There was a new kind of strength in the gravity of her face, and her colors still gave her that look of deep-seated health and ardor.

The land belongs to the future.

Loyal? As loyal as anyone who plays second fiddle ever is.