once a man had thrust his hands into the soil and knew the grit of it between his teeth, he felt something rise within him that was not of his day or generation, but had persisted through birth and death from a time beyond recall.

Religion is passionate, reckless, destructive, idol-smashing. It's a martyr burning at the stake. It's a crown of thorns and a cross.

I don't see as it matters much how well you mean if it's harm you're doin'.

God, what pathetic creatures had inherited the earth, to walk a little while with their eyes upon the stars and turn their gaze too soon upon the ground that held their feet!

A false vision was better than none.

Listen - man is a child of Nature. When he turns against his mother - he's done! He may not find out about it right away, but he will.

By mid-morning a rain as fine as silk spills was weaving over the lake.

Time, designing slowly, swiftly Time, destroying slowly, swiftly Time holding, possessing the earth in its tender indifference.

There was nothing so real on the prairie as winter, nothing so memorable.

Here and there on the branch of an oak a congress of leaves still clung, rigid as flakes of bronze.

But one had to go back to the beginning of things, always. Trace the thread of life - find the knot - untangle it.

a man can break God's laws and be forgiven. That's what they teach us. But when he breaks Nature's laws, there's no forgiveness - and there's no escape. Sooner or later he pays the penalty, or his children pay it - or his children's children. It doesn't matter much. It must be paid.

It's remarkable - most remarkable, the way these people manage, from time to time, a tragedy or a near-tragedy to break the even tenor of their ways,' said Mr. Tingley, in a tone of half-humorous superiority, by which he considered that he distinguished himself, subtly and inoffensively, from 'these people.

The past ... is a dim avenue down which we may walk and find the diverging paths of terror and beauty and passion.