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“On a small square, wood is being cut for the city school. Cords of healthy, crisp timber are piled high and melt slowly, one log after another, under the saws and axes of workmen. Ah, timber, trustworthy, honest, true matter of reality, bright and completely decent, the embodiment of the decency and prose of life! However deep you look into its core, you cannot find anything that is not apparent on its evenly smiling surface, shining with that warm, assured glow of its fibrous pulp woven in a likeness of the human body. In each fresh section of a cut log a new face og the human body. In each fresh section of a cut log a new face appears, always smiling and golden. Oh, the strange complexion of timber, warm eithout exaltation, completely sound, fragrant, and pleasant!”
― Bruno Schulz, The Street of Crocodiles

“Words to feed your passion. Thought to stoke your flickering embers. I see your unseen fires & feed it with my timber.”
― Curtis Tyrone Jones

“That wood," he said, pointing back to the pinewood on the mound, "is used for any building that goes on here. So is the one right over there; it is beech, elm and oak. We never buy a plank of timber here. And we never cut down a tree unless it is necessary. And whatever tree is cut down, is always replaced by a sapling of the same kind. That is another of our traditions. The result is that our woods never grow less. Even in the last war, when so much had to be cut for the Government, we replanted as fast as we cut down. I have a forestry man in charge, and we pride ourselves on our beautiful timber.”
― Elinor M. Brent-Dyer, The Lost Staircase