Sift Each Of Us Through The Great

I Can Only Tell You That When Long Soul-searching And A Combination Of Circumstances Delivered Me Of My Last Prejudices, There Was An Exalted Sense Of Liberation. It Was Not The Negro Who Became Free, But I.

No, I Most Certainly Do Not Think Advertising People Are Wonderful. I Think They Are Horrible, And The Worst Menace To Mankind, Next To War; Perhaps Ahead Of War. They Stand For The Material Viewpoint, For The Importance Of Possessions, Of Desire, Of Envy, Of Greed. And War Comes From These Things.

It Is Impossible To Be Among The Woods Animals On Their Own Ground Without A Feeling Of Expanding One's Own World, As When Any Foreign Country Is Visited.

Sorrow Was Like The Wind. It Came In Gusts.

Who Owns Cross Creek? The Red-birds, I Think, More Than I, For They Will Have Their Nests Even In The Face Of Delinquent Mortgages..it Seems To Me That The Earth May Be Borrowed, But Not Bought. It May Be Used, But Not Owned. It Gives Itself In Response To Love And Tending, Offers Its Sesonal Flowering And Fruiting. But We Are Tenants And Not Possessors, Lovers, And Not Masters. Cross Creek Belongs To The Wind And The Rain, To The Sun And The Seasons, To The Cosmic Secrecy Of Seed, And Beyond All, To Time..."