“Yes, sometimes, when I think about father and mother and those who are gone; so many of our old neighbors.” Alexandra paused and looked up thoughtfully at the stars.“We can remember the graveyard when it was wild prairie, Carl, and now –”

“And now the old story has begun to write itself over there,” said Carl softly.“Isn’t it queer: there are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before; like the larks in this country, that have been singing the same five notes over for thousands of years.”

– Willa Cather,
O Pioneers!