What a strange joy it was to talk, to fish gleefully into the past and fling its fragments about us, with the unfailing aroma of pleasantness that pasts always seem to possess!
What a strange joy it was to talk, to fish gleefully into the past and fling its fragments about us, with the unfailing aroma of pleasantness that pa… - Anne Bosworth Greene
What a strange joy it was to talk, to fish gleefully into the past and fling its fragments about us, with the unfailing aroma of pleasantness that pa…
- Anne Bosworth Greene
November at its best - with a sort of delightful menace in the air. - Anne Bosworth Greene
November at its best - with a sort of delightful menace in the air.
But I shall like my battle. This sort of day puts one in mood for it. Plenty of wood in the shed, jam and potatoes and apples in the cellar, hay and … - Anne Bosworth Greene
But I shall like my battle. This sort of day puts one in mood for it. Plenty of wood in the shed, jam and potatoes and apples in the cellar, hay and …
A farm is like a very large and extended baby. It takes a great deal of time and very little mentality. - Anne Bosworth Greene
A farm is like a very large and extended baby. It takes a great deal of time and very little mentality.
I love old moons. There is something humanized about them; they are dulled a little, and rich in color. One can stare all night at an old moon. - Anne Bosworth Greene
I love old moons. There is something humanized about them; they are dulled a little, and rich in color. One can stare all night at an old moon.
a sarcastic expression, on a beast, is far more sinister than rage. - Anne Bosworth Greene
a sarcastic expression, on a beast, is far more sinister than rage.
timeliness is an enemy to art. - Anne Bosworth Greene
timeliness is an enemy to art.
My field-mouse had made a set of brand-new tracks; here and there they etched themselves, following the brown flowers. It seemed as if uncommon spiri… - Anne Bosworth Greene
My field-mouse had made a set of brand-new tracks; here and there they etched themselves, following the brown flowers. It seemed as if uncommon spiri…
The thing one resents about winter is its inactivity; the perpetual sameness of ice-armored hills and snow-blanketed woods. Great things, of course, … - Anne Bosworth Greene
The thing one resents about winter is its inactivity; the perpetual sameness of ice-armored hills and snow-blanketed woods. Great things, of course, …
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