“He was ever a strong man, which is almost the same, times, as to say a man with little time for kindness. For if you stop to be kind, you must swerve often from your pat. So when folk tell me of this great man and that great man, I think to myself, Who was stinted of joy for his glory? How many old folk and children did his coach wheels go over? What bridal lacked his song, and what mourner his tars, that he found time to climb so high?”
“Labor brings a thing nearer the hearts core.”
“I've thought since that when folk grumble about this and that and be not happy, it is not the fault of creation, that is like a vast mere full of good, but it is the fault of their bucket's smallness.”
“That vivid present of theirs, how faint it grows! The past is only the present become invisible and mute, and because it is invisible and mute, its memoried glances and its murmurs are infinitely precious. We are to-morrow's past.”
“I love you already, and if these things be done in the dry tree, what shall be done in the green?”
“I'd laboured over it a long while, and labour brings a thing near the heart's core.”
“Beguildy looked at me over the rim of a great measure of mead. 'Saddle your dreams afore you ride 'em, my wench,' he said.”
“I only wanted to know, Prue. I be getting ancient and old, and the time draws nigh when life'll be a burden. I'd lief know as there was good in store for the best girl ever.”
“For it inna by the deal that's said, but by what's in the things said, that you can know a person. Just as it inna the extra length or breadth of a gown that keeps you warm, but the quality of the stuff. In all he wrote, I'd find him. For you canna write a word, even, but you show yourself--in the word you choose, and the shape of the letters, and whether you write tall or short, plain or flourished. It's a game of I Spy and there's nowhere to hide.”
“To conjure, even for a moment, the wistfulness which is the past is like trying to gather in one's arms the hyacinth colour of the distance. But if it is once achieved, what sweetness! - like the gentle, fugitive fragrance of spring flowers, dried with bergamot and bay" ~ From Mary Webb's introduction to her novel Precious Bane”
“almost met in the middle. From either hand the notes of the small birds that had not yet given up singing went winging out across the water, and so quiet it was that though they were only such thin songs as those of willow wrens and robins, you could hear them all across the mere. Even on such a burning day as this, when I pulled the honeysuckle wrathes, there was a sweet, cool air from the water, very heady and full of life. For though Sarn was an ill place to live, and in the wintry months a very mournful place, at this one time of the year it left one dreaming of sorrow and was as other fair stretches of wood and water. All around the lake stood the tall bulrushes with their stout heads of brown plush, just like a long coat Miss Dorabella had. Within the ring of rushes was another ring of lilies, and at this time of the year they were the most beautiful thing at Sarn, and the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. The big bright leaves lay calm upon the water, and calmer yet upon the leaves lay the lilies, white and yellow. When they were buds, they were like white and gold birds sleeping, head under wing, or like summat carven out of glistering stone, or, as I said afore, they were like gouts of pale wax. But when they were come into full blow they wunna like anything but themselves, and they were so lovely you couldna choose but cry to see them. The yellow ones had more of a spread of petals, having five or six apiece, but the white ones opened their four wider and each petal was bigger. These petals are of a glistening white within, like the raiment of those men who stood with Christ upon the mountain top, and without they are stained with tender green, as if they had taken colour from the green shadows in the water. Some of the dragon-flies look like this also, for their lacy wings without other colour are sometimes touched with shifting”
“I do believe all shall be well with you, Prue. It's come to my heart as soft as dew, and as sweet as a red rose, that you'll get love as well as give it. After my time, though, after my time. But no matter for that, so I do know it's to come.”
“I thought she had a good heart, though not much respectability- or maybe it was because of that.”
“Perché io credo che l'anima agisca sul corpo, che lo vivifichi col suo soffio e lo ricopra di un velo che lo fa sembrare più bello di quanto non sia.”
“Mi piaceva osservare la pasta che lievitava al calore della fiamma, e scaldare il forno con le fascine, raccattandone poi la cenere, e allineare per bene le pagnottine. Era piacevole stare nella cucina calda e piena di luce, in cui si diffondeva il buon odore del pane, e guardare fuori i campi e i boschi grigi, freddi e solitari, e poi chiudere le imposte, accendere la candela, apparecchiare e mettere a scaldare la focaccia di patate sulla brace, e sapere anche che di lì a poco tutti quelli che amavo sarebbero stati al riparo per una notte intera.”
“All this time, Lev ever realized what he needed. He did not need to be adored or pitied. He needed to be forgiven. Not by God, who is all forgiving. Not by people like Marcus and Pastor Dan, who would always stand by his side. He needed to be forgiven by an unforgiving world.”
“This one isn’t just any old horse. There’s a nobility in his eye, a regal serenity about him. Does he not personify all that men try to be and never can be? I tell you, my friend, there’s divinity in a horse, and specially in a horse like this. God got it right the day he created them. And to find a horse like this in the middle of this filthy abomination of a war, is for me like finding a butterfly on a dung heap. We don’t belong in the same universe as a creature like this.”
“You could never convince a monkey to give you a banana by promising him limitless bananas after death in monkey heaven.”
“What? Were you born stupid, or did you just die that way?”
“There are symbolic dreams-- dreams that symbolize some reality. Then there are symbolic realities -- realities that symbolize a dream. Symbols are what you might call the honorary town councillors of the worm universe. In the worm universe, there is nothing unusual about a dairy cow seeking a pair of pliers. A cow is bound to get her pliers sometime. It has nothing to do with me.”
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