I Wondered If The Life That Was

One Cannot Divine Nor Forecast The Conditions That Will Make Happiness; One Only Stumbles Upon Them By Chance, In A Lucky Hour, At The World's End Somewhere, And Hold Fast To The Days.

Many People Seem To Think That Art Is A Luxury To Be Imported And Tacked On To Life. Art Springs Out Of The Very Stuff That Life Is Made Of. Most Of Our Young Authors Start To Write A Story And Make A Few Observations From Nature To Add Local Color. The Results Are Invariably False And Hollow. Art Must Spring Out Of The Fullness And Richness Of Life.

Personal Life Becomes Paler As The Imaginative Life Becomes Richer.

I Like Trees Because They Seem More Resigned To The Way They Have To Live Than Other Things Do. I Feel As If This Tree Knows Everything I Ever Think Of When I Sit Here. When I Come Back To It, I Never Have To Remind It Of Anything; I Begin Just Where I Left Off.

Freedom So Often Means That One Isn't Needed Anywhere. Here You Are An Individual, You Have A Background Of Your Own, You Would Be Missed. But Off There In The Cities There Are Thousands Of Rolling Stones Like Me. We Are All Alike; We Have No Ties, We Know Nobody, We Own Nothing.