And the secret garden bloomed and bloomed and every morning revealed new miracles.
Frances Hodgson BurnettRead
She liked books more than anything else, and was, in fact, always inventing stories of beautiful things and telling them to herself.
Interpretation
The quote expresses a deep appreciation for books and the creativity they inspire in individuals.
In this quote, Frances Hodgson Burnett highlights the profound connection between a person and their love for books. It suggests that not only does the character cherish reading, but she also channels her passion into her own imaginative storytelling, illustrating the transformative power of literature and the joy of creating one's own narratives.
In practice
In a book club discussion about favorite authors, this quote can be shared to emphasize the importance of storytelling.
And the secret garden bloomed and bloomed and every morning revealed new miracles.
It's so different to be a sparrow. But nobody asked this rat if he wanted to be a rat when he was made. Nobody said, 'Wouldn't you rather be a sparrow?
As long as you have a garden you have a future and as long as you have a future you are alive.
If nature has made you for a giver, your hands are born open, and so is your heart; and though there may be times when your hands are empty, your heart is always full, and you can give things out of that--warm things, kind things, sweet things--help and comfort and laughter--and sometimes gay, kind laughter is the best help of all.
Somehow, something always happens just before things get to the very worst. It is as if Magic did it. If I could only just remember that always. The worse thing never quite comes.
At that moment a very good thing was happening to her. Four good things had happened to her, in fact, since she came to Misselthwaite Manor. She had felt as if she had understood a robin and that he had understood her; she had run in the wind until her blood had grown warm; she had been healthily hungry for the first time in her life; and she had found out what it was to be sorry for someone.
People write memoirs because they lack the imagination to make things up.
What I try to do is write a story about a detective rather than a detective story. Keeping the reader fooled until the last, possible moment is a good trick and I usually try to play it, but I can't attach more than secondary importance to it. The puzzle isn't so interesting to me as the behavior of the detective attacking it.
It's extraordinary how many people read a book that's new and weird and befriend it.
My father, if anything, first and last, was a man of words. He loved stories; he didn't live for stories, exactly, but I think he lived through stories. I think, like many writers, he loved stories about things he had experienced as much as, if not more than, he loved the experiences themselves.
It seems to me that good novels celebrate the mystery in ordinary life, and summing it all up in psychological terms strips the mystery away
Novelists are stamina merchants, grinders, nine-to-fivers, and their career curves follow the usual arc of human endeavour.
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