A Burnt Dog Dreads The Fire.

In Haverford On The Platte The Townspeople Still Talk Of Lucy Gayheart.

Sometimes I Wonder Why God Ever Trusts Talent In The Hands Of Women, They Usually Make Such An Infernal Mess Of It. I Think He Must Do It As A Sort Of Ghastly Joke.

Some Things Are Best Learned In Calm, Others In Storm.

There Was Nothing But Land; Not A Country At All, But The Material Out Of Which Countries Are Made.

They Ravaged Neither The Rivers Nor The Forest, And If They Irrigated, They Took As Little Water As Would Serve Their Needs. The Land And All That It Bore They Treated With Consideration; Not Attempting To Improve It, They Never Desecrated It.