Imagination Is The Only True Thing In

In The Life Of Each Of Us There Is A Place Remote And Islanded, And Given To Endless Regret Or Secret Happiness.

God Would Not Give Us The Same Talent If What Were Right For Men Were Wrong For Women.

This Was One Of Those Perfect New England Days In Late Summer Where The Spirit Of Autumn Takes A First Stealing Flight, Like A Spy, Through The Ripening Country-side, And, With Feigned Sympathy For Those Who Droop With August Heat, Puts Her Cool Cloak Of Bracing Air About Leaf And Flower And Human Shoulders.

What's Everybody's Business Is Nobody's Business.

You Must Find Your Own Quiet Center Of Life, And Write From That To The World.