I suppose that Italy must always lie like some lovely sunken island at the bottom of all passionate dreams, from which at the flood it may arise; the air of it is charged with subtle essences of romance. One supposes… — 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
