Information Can Be Passed From One To

A Dead Tree, Falling, Made Less Havoc Than A Live One. It Seemed As Though A Live Tree Went Down Fighting, Like An Animal.

Words Began Fights And Words Ended Them.

Information Can Be Passed From One To Another, Like A Silver Dollar. There's Absolutely No Wisdom Except What You Learn For Yourself.

People In General Are Totally Unable To Detach The Personality Of A Writer From The Products Of His Thinking.

Men Had Reached Into The Scrub And Along Its Boundaries, Had Snatched What They Could Get And Had Gone Away, Uneasy In That Vast Indifferent Peace; For A Man Was Nothing, Crawling Ant-like Among The Myrtle Bushes Under The Pines. Now They Were Gone, It Was As Though They Had Never Been. The Silence Of The Scrub Was Primordial. The Wood-thrush Crying Across It Might Have Been The First Bird In The World-or The Last.