Quotes from John Hall Wheelock

The heaven of stars bends over me in silence, a harp through which the wind of time still whispers music some hand has hushed but left there trembling-- where time has made such music!

Habit, routine, our daily humdrum apathy and indifference, this is the shield we put between us and reality, the shield with which we protect ourselves from life while we are engaged in the business of living. It is the function of the arts to pierce that shield, to re-awaken in us a forgotten knowledge.

Most writers are in a state of gloom a good deal of the time; they need perpetual reassurance.