I Had Killed A Big Snake. I

Money Is A Protection, A Cloak; It Can Buy One Quiet, And Some Sort Of Dignity.

There Was Nothing But Land; Not A Country At All, But The Material Out Of Which Countries Are Made.

Wherever Humanity Has Made That Hardest Of All Starts And Lifted Itself Out Of Mere Brutality Is A Sacred Spot.

The Qualities Of A Second-rate Writer Can Easily Be Defined, But A First-rate Writer Can Only Be Experienced. It Is Just The Thing In Him Which Escapes Analysis That Makes Him First-rate.

There Was Only - Spring Itself, The Throb Of It, The Light Restlessness, The Vital Essence Of It Everywhere; In The Sky, In The Swift Clouds, In The Pale Sunshine, And In The Warm High Wind - Rising Suddenly, Sinking Suddenly, Impulsive ... If I Had Been Tossed Down Blindfold On That Red Prairie, I Should Have Known That It Was Spring.