It’s Not The Word Made

I Am Unlikely To Trust A Sentence That Comes Easily.

Literature Is Composed Of Quarter Truths, And The Quarters Are Often Spent On Penny Candy.

Surely It's Better To Live In The Country, To Live On A Prairie By A Drawing Of Rivers, In Iowa Or Illinois Or Indiana, Say, Than In Any City, In Any Stinking Fog Of Human Beings, In Any Blooming Orchard Of Machines. It Ought To Be.

It Is Discouraging To Leave The Past Behind Only To See It Coming Toward You Like The Thunderstorm Which Drenched You Yesterday.

Of Course There Is Enough To Stir Our Wonder Anywhere; There's Enough To Love, Anywhere, If One Is Strong Enough, If One Is Diligent Enough, If One Is Perceptive, Patient, Kind Enough -- Whatever It Takes.