Claude Wheeler Opened His Eyes

He Domesticated And Developed The Native Wild Flowers. He Had One Hill-side Solidly Clad With That Low-growing Purple Verbena Which Mats Over The Hills Of New Mexico. It Was Like A Great Violet Velvet Mantle Thrown Down In The Sun; All The Shades That The Dyers And Weavers Of Italy And France Strove For Through Centuries, The Violet That Is Full Of Rose Colour And Is Yet Not Lavender; The Blue That Becomes Almost Pink And Then Retreats Again Into Sea-dark Purple—the True Episcopal Colour And Countless Variations Of It.

Life Began For Me, When I Ceased To Admire And Began To Remember.

Only The Stupid And The Phlegmatic Should Teach.

There Was Nothing But Land; Not A Country At All, But The Material Out Of Which Countries Are Made.

Freedom So Often Means That One Isn't Needed Anywhere.