...she woke up in time to see the sun sending up spies ahead of him to mark out the road through the dark. He peeped up over the door sill of the world and made a little foolishness with red.

The sun, the hero of every day, the impersonal old man that beams as brightly on death as on birth, came up every morning.

I been through living for years. I just ain't dead yet.

Those that don't got it, can't show it. Those that got it, can't hide it.

I hold that any religion that satisfies the individual urge is valid for that person.

She had an inside and an outside now and suddenly she knew how not to mix them.

Bitterness is the coward's revenge on the world for having been hurt.