Sherwood Anderson

The machines men are so intent on making have carried them very far from the old sweet things.
– Sherwood Anderson

“The fruition of the year had come and the night should have been fine with a moon in the sky and the crisp sharp promise of frost in the air, but it wasn’t that way. It rained and little puddles of water shone under the street lamps on Main Street. In the woods in the darkness beyond the Fair Ground water dripped from the black trees.”

– Sherwood Anderson

“Love is like a wind stirring the grass beneath trees on a black night,’ he had said. ‘You must not try to make love definite. It is the divine accident of life. If you try to be definite and sure about it and to live beneath the trees, where soft night winds blow, the long hot day of disappointment comes swiftly and the gritty dust from passing wagons gathers upon lips inflamed and made tender by kisses.”

– Sherwood Anderson

I go about looking at horses and cattle. They eat grass, make love, work when they have to, bear their young. I am sick with envy of them.
– Sherwood Anderson