When The Pleiades And The Wind In

The Quality Of Life, Which In The Ardour Of Spring Was Personal And Sexual, Becomes Social In Midsummer.

Our Civilization Has Fallen Out Of Touch With Night. With Lights, We Drive The Holiness And Beauty Of Night Back To The Forests And The Sea; The Little Villages, The Crossroads Even, Will Have None Of It. Are Modern Folk, Perhaps, Afraid Of Night? Do They Fear That Vast Serenity, The Mystery Of Infinite Space, The Austerity Of Stars?

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.

The Seas Are The Hearts Blood Of The Earth. Plucked Up And Kneaded By The Sun And The Moon, The Tides Are Systole And Diastole Of Earth's Veins.

Wolves Are Not Our Brothers; They Are Not Our Subordinates, Either. They Are Another Nation, Caught Up Just Like Us In The Complex Web Of Time And Life.