Every Day Is A Sabbath To Me.

What A Severe Yet Master Artist Old Winter Is... No Longer The Canvas And The Pigments, But The Marble And The Chisel.

Temperament Lies Behind Mood; Behind Will, Lies The Fate Of Character. Then Behind Both, The Influence Of Family The Tyranny Of Culture; And Finally The Power Of Climate And Environment; And We Are Free, Only To The Extent We Rise Above These.

To The Scientist Nature Is A Storehouse Of Facts, Laws, Processes; To The Artist She Is A Storehouse Of Pictures; To The Poet She Is A Storehouse Of Images, Fancies, A Source Of Inspiration; To The Moralist She Is A Storehouse Of Precepts And Parables; To All She May Be A Source Of Knowledge And Joy.

I Am In Love With This World . . . I Have Climbed Its Mountains, Roamed Its Forests, Sailed Its Waters, Crossed Its Deserts, Felt The Sting Of Its Frosts, The Oppression Of Its Heats, The Drench Of Its Rains, The Fury Of Its Winds, And Always Have Beauty And Joy Waited Upon My Goings And Comings.

The God Of The Puritans...was A Monster Too Horrible To Contemplate.