"There may be a soul of the world, there may be ... a psychical side, of which we are not aware, to every atom in the universe, and the psychical side, like the moon, may show us ever but the one face, the other forever in the shadow; but, at best, this is only a conjecture, it presents no solid foundation upon which to rest a theory."

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I suppose there is something in all of us that harks back to the soil. When you come to think of it, what are picnics but outcroppings of instinct? No one really enjoys them or expects to enjoy them, but with the first warm days some prehistoric instinct takes us out into the woods, to fry potatoes over a strangling wood fire or spend the next week getting grass stains out of our clothes. It must be instinct; every atom of intelligence warns us to stay at home near the refrigerator.

— Mary Roberts Rinehart