Nothing is so beautiful as spring – when weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring the ear, it strikes like lightning to hear him sing.
It seldom happens that a premature shoot of genius ever arrives at maturity.
Humility, that low, sweet root, from which all heavenly virtues shoot.
At twelve I was determined to shoot only For honor; at twenty not to shoot at all; I know at thirty-three that one must shoot As often as one gets the rare chance – In killing there is more than commentary.
I do not even hate the Talib who shot me. Even if there was a gun in my hand and he stands in front of me, I would not shoot him.
At least the Pilgrim Fathers used to shoot Indians: the Pilgrim Children merely punch time clocks.