No Man Should Have Proprietary Rights Over

Garlic, Like Perfume, Must Be Used With Discretion And On The Proper Occasions.

The Individual Man Is Transitory, But The Pulse Of Life And Of Growth Goes On After He Is Gone, Buried Under A Wreath Of Magnolia Leaves.

Personal Publicity Is Apt To Be Dangerous To Any Writer's Integrity; For The Moment He Begins To Fancy Himself As Quite A Person, A Taint Creeps Into His Work.

I Have Found That Each Of My Books Has Developed Out Of Something I Have Written In A Previous Book. Some Thought Evidently Unfinished.

Men Had Reached Into The Scrub And Along Its Boundaries, Had Snatched What They Could Get And Had Gone Away, Uneasy In That Vast Indifferent Peace; For A Man Was Nothing, Crawling Ant-like Among The Myrtle Bushes Under The Pines. Now They Were Gone, It Was As Though They Had Never Been. The Silence Of The Scrub Was Primordial. The Wood-thrush Crying Across It Might Have Been The First Bird In The World-or The Last.