The Quality Of Life, Which In The

The Leaves Fall, The Wind Blows, And The Farm Country Slowly Changes From The Summer Cottons Into Its Winter Woods.

The Animal Should Not Be Measured By Man. In A World Older Than Ours They Move Finished And Complete, Gifted With Extensions Of The Sense We Have Lost Or Never Attained, Living By Voices We Shall Never Hear.

The Adventure Of The Sun Is The Great Natural Drama By Which We Live, And Not To Have Joy In It And Awe Of It, Not To Share In It, Is To Close A Dull Door On Nature's Sustaining And Poetic Spirit.

We Need Another And A Wiser And A Perhaps More Mystical Concept Of Animals.

I Am Glad That The Country World...retains A Power To Use Our English Tongue. It Is A Part Of Its Sense Of Reality, Of Its Vocabulary Of Definite Terms, And Of Its Habit Of Earthly Common Sense. I Find This Country Writing An Excellent Corrective Of The Urban Vocabulary Of Abstractions And Of The Emotion Disguised As Thinking Which Abstractions And Humbug Have Loosed Upon The World. May There Always Be Such Things As A Door, A Milk Pail, And A Loaf Of Bread, And Words To Do Them Honor.