I lived, particularly in childhood but with lessening intensity right on to middle age, in a world that was peculiarly and intimately my own, scarcely to be shared with others or even made plausible to them. I habitually read special meanings into things, scenes and places - qualities of wonder, beauty, promise, or horror - for which there was no external evidence visible or plausible to others. My world was peopled with mysteries, seductive hints, vague menaces, 'intimations of immortality.'

A foreign policy aimed at the achievement of total security is the one thing I can think of that is entirely capable of bringing this country to a point where …

A guest of one's time and not a member of its household.

Now this problem of the adjustment of man to his natural resources, and the problem of how such things as industrialization and urbanization can be accepted wi…

Alone he rides, alone, The fair and fatal king: Dark night is all his own, That strange and solemn thing.

One of the deepest and strangest of all human moods is the mood which will suddenly strike us perhaps in a garden at night, or deep in sloping meadows, the fee…

There paused to shut the door A fellow called the Wind, With mystery before, And reticence behind.