“All things on earth point home in old October; sailors to sea, travellers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken.”
More from Thomas Wolfe
“We do not want to be told what we know. We do not want to call things by their names,…”
“I am, he thought, a part of all that I have touched and that has touched me, which, having…”
“Out of the nameless and unfathomed weavings of billion-footed life, out of the dark abyss…”
“So all were gone at last, one by one, each swept out into the mighty flood tide of the…”