To anyone who is homeless, I say, find a home.
Animals, or at least those who are conscious and capable of suffering or enjoying their lives, are not things for us to use in whatever way we find convenient.
I long, as does every human being, to be at home wherever I find myself.
Consider any individual at any period of his life, and you will always find him preoccupied with fresh plans to increase his comfort.
The Christian resolution to find the world ugly and bad has made the world ugly and bad.
Anyone who is to find Christ must first find the church. How could anyone know where Christ is and what faith is in him unless he knew where his believers are?
If I get the idea, and I get some clarity on how I feel about that idea, then I can safely assume I’ll find the right words. I do have that confidence.
But maybe it’s up in the hills under the leaves or in a ditch somewhere. Maybe it’s never found. But what you find, whatever you find, is always only part of the missing, and writing is the way the poet finds out what it is he found.
What we need is not the will to believe, but the wish to find out.
Progressively saved by the machine from the anxieties that bound his hands and mind to material toil, relieved of a large part of his work and compelled to an ever-increasing speed of action by the devices which his intelligence cannot help ceaselessly creating and perfecting, man is about to find himself abruptly plunged into idleness.