Candleford Green was but a small village and there were fields and meadows and woods all around it. As soon as Laura crossed the doorstep, she could see some of these. But mere seeing from a distance did not satisfy her; she longed to go alone far into the fields and hear the birds singing, the brooks tinkling, and the wind rustling through the corn, as she had when a child. To smell things and touch things, warm earth and flowers and grasses, and to stand and gaze where no one could see her, drinking it all in.

Words as to the inner emotions do not come readily to me, for I have led an isolated life mentally and spiritually.

Any artwork needs time and patience and needs above a quiet mind.

What greater restoratives have we poor mortals than a good meal taken in the company of loving friends?

Some great poet or philosopher once said that " he who goes to nature for comfort must go to her empty handed " , and I think he was right.

It was ordained that our earthly pilgrammage should be a struggle, and life would be a tame affair if everything went smoothly.

Manner and morals have improved, improved wages and world travel during the war have had effect, and the farm labourer now is an intelligent, self respecting workman, on a level at least with the town artisan. The village rustic of the past no longer exists outside of the comic papers.