The Road to Yesterday

You may tire of reality but you never tire of dreams.

Ah, children are not what they were in my young days. They listened to their parents then.

...raised herself on one round elbow and looked out on a tiny river like a gleaming blue snake winding itself around a purple hill. Right below the house was a field white as snow with daisies, and the shadow of the huge maple tree that bent over the little house fell lacily across it. Far beyond it were the white crests of Four Winds Harbour and a long range of sun-washed dunes and red cliffs.

Did she think ginger cookies a substitute for impassioned longings and mad, wild, glamorous adventures?

You lose so much out of life by being cynical