There is no division nor subtraction in the heart-arithmetic of a good mother. There are only addition and multiplication.

Regardless of the popular literary trend of the times, write the thing which lies close to your heart.

Christmas Eve was a night of song that wrapped itself about you like a shawl. But it warmed more than your body. It warmed your heart...filled it, too, with melody that would last forever.

Love is the light that you see by.

A person may encircle the globe with mind open only to bodily comfort. Another may live his life on a sixty-foot lot and listen to the voices of the universe.

It was true, she thought, that the big things awe us but the little things touch us.

It takes a small town to keep you humble.

Our souls may all be equal in the sight of the Lord, but our gumption and ingenuity ain't. So the results of man's labor will never be equal.

not all clever words are true. ... And inversely most things that are true are not clever.

Some girls are apparently born with dates; some through much personal activity, achieve them; but others seem by necessity to have dates thrust upon them.

Sometime in their lives, everybody wanted to go home.

He who hesitates is lost.

We still and always want waking.

I'm a traditional martial artist and I'm always going to carry myself in the most respectful way I can.

We have to realize we are building a movement.

A person must have a good memory to keep the promises he has made. A person must have a strong imagination to be able to have pity. So closely is morality tied to the quality of the intellect.

Whenever one reads of the determination of the species, or opens a book on natural science and history, in whatever language, one inevitably comes across the name of Linne.

To believe that everyone is honest is folly, but to believe that no one is honest is worse.

A book very much is the center of the road, so people always can refer back to it.

I’m a poet. And then I put the poetry in the drama. I put it in short stories, and I put it in the plays. Poetry’s poetry. It doesn’t have to be called a poem, you know.