Poetry, Mythology, And Religion Represent The World

The Snow Itself Is Lonely Or, If You Prefer, Self-sufficient. There Is No Other Time When The Whole World Seems Composed Of One Thing And One Thing Only.

Man Is The Only One In Whom The Instinct Of Life Falters Long Enough To Enable It To Ask The Question "why?

A Tragic Writer Does Not Have To Believe In God, But He Must Believe In Man.

Every Time A Value Is Born, Existence Takes On A New Meaning; Every Time One Dies, Some Part Of That Meaning Passes Away.

There Are Some Optimists Who Search Eagerly For The Skunk Cabbage Which In February Sometimes Pushes Itself Up Through The Ice, And Who Call It A Sign Of Spring. I Wish That I Could Feel That Way About It, But I Do Not. The Truth Of The Matter, To Me, Is Simply That Skunk Cabbage Blooms In The Winter Time.