America Has Enjoyed The Doubtful Blessing Of

What A Man Marries For's Hard To Tell ... An' What A Woman Marries For's Past Findin' Out.

I Have Little Faith In The Theory That Organized Killing Is The Best Prelude To Peace.

It Was A Perfect Spring Afternoon, And The Air Was Filled With Vague, Roving Scents, As If The Earth Exhaled The Sweetness Of Hidden Flowers.

. . . Every Tree Near Our House Had A Name Of Its Own And A Special Identity. This Was The Beginning Of My Love For Natural Things, For Earth And Sky, For Roads And Fields And Woods, For Trees And Grass And Flowers; A Love Which Has Been Second Only To My Sense Of Enduring Kinship With Birds And Animals, And All Inarticulate Creatures.

The Age Is A Vociferous One, And No Prophet Is Without Honor Who Is Able To Strike An Attitude And To Speak Loud Enough To Make Himself Heard.