The utmost the American novelist can hope for, if he hopes at all to see his work included in the literature of his time, is that it may eventually be found to be along in the direction of the growing… — Mary Hunter Austin Copy Share Image
Over the tops of it, beginning to dusk under a young white moon, trailed a wavering ghost of smoke, and at the end of… — Mary Hunter Austin Copy Share Image
Genius . . . arises in the natural, aboriginal concern for the conscious unity of all phenomena. — Mary Hunter Austin Copy Share Image
Man is not himself only...He is all that he sees; all that flows to him from a thousand sources...He is the land, the lift… — Mary Hunter Austin Copy Share Image
This is the sense of the desert hills, that there is room enough and time enough — Mary Hunter Austin Copy Share Image
The utmost the American novelist can hope for, if he hopes at all to see his work included in the literature of his time,… — Mary Hunter Austin Copy Share Image
Man learned to resort to the dance when he felt helpless or fragmentary, when he felt dislocated in his universe. — Mary Hunter Austin Copy Share Image
Life set itself to new processions of seed-time and harvest, the skin newly turned to seasonal variations, the very blood humming to new altitudes. — Mary Hunter Austin Copy Share Image
In the common esteem, not only are the only good aboriginals dead ones, but all aboriginals are either sacred or contemptible according to the… — Mary Hunter Austin Copy Share Image
All mountain streets have streams to thread them, or deep grooves where a stream might run. You would do well to avoid that range… — Mary Hunter Austin Copy Share Image
You have to beat out for yourself many mornings on the windy headlands the sense of the fact that you get the same rainbow… — Mary Hunter Austin Copy Share Image
As I walk .. as I walk .. / The universe .. is walking with me .. / Beautifully .. it walks before me… — Mary Hunter Austin Copy Share Image
