. . . the song of the world is all of love.
By the wood-shed is a brook. It goes singing on. Its joy-song does sing in my heart.
And all the times I was picking up potatoes, I did have conversations with them. Too, I did have thinks of all their growing days there in the ground, and all the things they did hear. Earth-voices are glad voices, and earth-songs come up from the ground through the plants; and in their flowering, and in the days before these days are come, they do tell the earth-songs to the wind. . . I have thinks these potatoes growing here did have knowings of star-songs.
The wind comes creeping, it calls to me to come go exploring. It sings of the things that are to be found under the leaves. It whispers the dreams of the tall fir trees. It does pipe the gentle song the forest sings on gray days. I hear all the voices calling me. I listen. But I cannot go.
When one does look up at the grand trees growing up almost to the sky, one does always have longings to pray.
Potatoes are very interesting folks. I think they must see a lot of what is going on in the earth - they have so many eyes.
And this I have learned grown-ups do not know the language of shadows.
Sorrow was made for man, not for beasts; yet if men encourage melancholy too much, they become no better than beasts.
You do what it takes. It was on me to deliver.
Being in the Boy Scouts, you don't think about whether people are gay or straight. You're busy putting up tents and learning to cut sausages.
I believe young children in particular enjoy witnessing the survival of youthful protagonists against terrible odds. I think it's gratifying to the reader when you give young characters that kind of agency.