If a writer wrote merely for his time, I would have to break my pen and throw it away.

What is more melancholy and more profound than to see a thousand objects for the first and the last time? To travel is to be born and to die at every instant;

Death belongs only to God. What right have men to lay hands on a thing so unknown?

It is the features of the years that makes up the face of the century.

He sleeps. Although his fate was very strange, He lived. He died when he had no longer his angel. The thing came to pass simply, of itself, As the night comes when day is gone. a

It is the lineaments of the years which form the countenance of the century.

The house, it's already been a-settin' here for a hundred years. It'll be right here tomorrow. It's today I must be livin'.

We have only one life. We may waste it, or we may use it to learn of God and what God wants for us. And we all make mistakes. Only one life.

Memories, important yesterdays, were once todays. Treasure and notice today.

Dying seems less sad than having lived too little.

The older I get, the more intensely I feel about the world around me.

Her husband stops by on his way to the cashier and suggests I see the huge statue of Crazy Horse that's being dynamited out of the Black Hills. "Crazy Horse riding his pony," he says, "is going to make all those Indian-killing presidents on Mount Rushmore look like nothing.