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.

Paris is a hard place to leave, even when it rains incessantly and one coughs continually from the dampness.

All Southern women wished of their menfolk was simply to be 'like Paris handsome and like Hector brave'.

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.

The land belongs to the future.

youth, when it is hurt, likes to feel itself betrayed.

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.