I was born in Sherman Oaks, California.
Man is the circled oak; woman the ivy.
The oak. . . has not the efficacy of the fir , nor the cypress that of the elm.
if we choose the wrong road, we choose the wrong destination.
No-one wants acorns, but everyone wants oaks.
We draw our strength from the great oaks of the forest. As they take their nourishment from the soil, and from the rains that feed the soil, so we find our courage in the pattern of living things around us. They stand through storm and tempest. They grow and renew themselves. Like a grove of young oaks, we remain strong.
If you wish to marry well, inquire well.
When we long for life without difficulties, remind us that oaks grow strong in contrary winds and diamonds are made under pressure.
Soul of fibre and heart of oak.
Many strokes overthrow the tallest oaks.
The little girl skipped by under the wrinkled oak leaves and held fast to a replica of herself.
An oak is no respecter of persons.
Storms make oaks take deeper root.
Little strokes fell great oaks.
A critic is to an author as a fungus to an oak.
I have no other masters than the beeches and the oaks.
An oak tree is an oak tree. That is all it has to do. If an oak tree is less than an oak tree, then we are all in trouble.
Genius unexerted is no more genius than a bushel of acorns is a forest of oaks.
I went to the springs while the sun was still up, and sitting on a rocky outcrop above the cave mouth I watched the light grow reddish across the misty pools, and listened to the troubled voice of the water. After a while I moved farther up the hill, where I could hear birds singing near and far in the silence of the trees. The presence of the trees was very strong. . . The big oaks stood so many, so massive in their other life, in their deep, rooted silence: the awe of them came on me, the religion.
A large, branching, aged oak is perhaps the most venerable of all inanimate objects.