There Are Many Ways To The Recognition

I Was Young, And By Instinct Of Self-preservation I Had To Collect My Energy On Something, If I Were Not To Be Whirled Away With The Dusk On The Farm-roads, Or The Smoke On The Plain. I Begun In The Evenings To Write Stories, Fairy-tales, And Romances, That Would Take My Mind A Long Way Off, To Other Countries And Times.

God Made The World, My Lord, And Looked At It, And Saw That It Was Good. Yes. But What If The World Had Looked Back At Him, To See Whether He Was Good Or Not?

A Great Artist Is Never Poor.

When In The End, The Day Came On Which I Was Going Away, I Learned The Strange Learning That Things Can Happen Which We Ourselves Cannot Possibly Imagine, Either Beforehand, Or At The Time When They Are Taking Place, Or Afterwards When We Look Back On Them.

I Had Seen A Herd Of Buffalo, One Hundred And Twenty-nine Of Them, Come Out Of The Morning Mist Under A Copper Sky, One By One, As If The Dark And Massive, Iron-like Animals With The Mighty Horizontally Swung Horns Were Not Approaching, But Were Being Created Before My Eyes And Sent Out As They Were Finished.