She had only to stand in the orchard, to put her hand on a little crab tree and look up at the apples, to make you feel the goodness of planting and tending and harvesting at last.

William Tavener never heeded ominous forecasts in the domestic horizon, and he never looked for a storm until it broke.

When we look back, the only things we cherish are those which in some way met our original want; the desire which formed in us in early youth, undirected, and of its own accord.

In little towns, lives roll along so close to one another; loves and hates beat about, their wings almost touching.

Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.

Desire is creation, is the magical element in that process. If there were an instrument by which to measure desire, one could foretell achievement.

Ugly accidents happen . . . always have and always will. But the failures are swept back into the pile and forgotten. They don`t leave any lasting scar in the world, and they don`t affect the future. The things that last are the good things. The people who forge ahead and do something, they really count.