True solitude is a din of birdsong, seething leaves, whirling colors, or a clamor of tracks in the snow. – Edward Hoagland
There arent many irritations to match the condescension which a woman metes out to a man who she believes has loved her vainly for the past umpteen years. – Edward Hoagland
The question of whether its Gods green earth is not at center stage, except in the sense that if so, one is reminded with some regularity that He may be dying. – Edward Hoagland
To relive the relationship between owner and slave we can consider how we treat our cars and dogs — a dog exercising a somewhat similar leverage on our mercies and an automobile being comparable in value to a slave in those days. – Edward Hoagland