#if

I don't go after him. He's a funny sort of boy. I've known that from the start. Not just because he seems angry and contemptuous or the way he walks like a tough guy. Because of his smile - it's a child's smile. ↗

— Delphine de Vigan

#love #funny

It is seldom in life that one knows that a coming event is to be of crucial importance. ↗

— Anya Seton

#crucial #event #importance #knows #life

The white spruce forest along the banks is most inspiring, magnificent here. Down the terraced slopes and right to the water's edge on the alluvial soil it stands in ranks. ↗

— Ernest Thompson Seton

#banks #down #edge #forest #here

The jazz chord substitutions in a country song... that was another thing that bent people's ears. I guess that my favorites are the unique ones. It's not how fast you play. It's that unique blending of different stuff I'm most proud of. ↗

— Brian Setzer

#bent #blending #chord #country #different

Instead of slapping her head, I do what they tell you to do: count to ten. Only I do it the gifted way: 123+456+789+10. When your sister has hurtled you swerving into the darkness, stranded you at a funeral home, and threatens to get you in trouble, just stop and count to 1,378 before you respond. ↗

— Jo Ann Beard

#sister #zanesville #home

But I did not want to be good. I wanted to be a writer. ↗

— Isabel Huggan

#writing #writing-life #home

A freshly red-painted train caboose had, for decades now, made its home on a green, little patch of the world outside of the one-room post office. Every small town that I had ever been to had had a caboose. ↗

— Laura Miller

#home

We live, all of us, in sprung rhythm. Even in cities, folk stir without knowing it to the surge in the blood that is the surge and urgency of season. In being born, we have taken seisin of the natural world, and as ever, it is the land which owns us, not we, the land. Even in the countryside, we dwell suspended between the rhythms of earth and season, weather and sky, and those imposed by metropolitan clocks, at home and abroad. When does the year begin? No; ask rather, When does it not? For us – all of us – as much as for Mr Eliot, midwinter spring is its own season; for all of us, if we but see it, our world is as full of time-coulisses as was Thomas Mann’s. Countrymen know this, with the instinct they share with their beasts. Writers want to know it also, and to articulate what the countryman knows and cannot, perhaps, express to those who sense but do not know, immured in sad conurbations, rootless amidst Betjeman’s frightful vision of soot and stone, worker’s flats and communal canteens, where it is the boast of pride that a man doesn’t let the grass grow under his feet. As both countryman and writer, I have a curious relationship to time. ↗

— G.M.W. Wemyss

#country-life #countryside #sir-john-betjeman #time #village-life

About their wedding on a beach of Nantucket, after nearly 50 years together as a couple: "After years of being who we truly were only in the privacy of our homes or with a few friends, we were out in the world, under the sky, no longer pretending.” - Norman Sunshine, co-author, Double Life ↗

— Norman Sunshine

#double-life #gay-marriage #love-story #norman-sunshine #home

You know there is something wrong when your religion tells you to stay home and watch the kids and all you want to do is rescue people in the forest. Listen to God. Go find the people lost in the forest. Your religion should not dictate the life mission of a woman’s heart. Hire a babysitter then go do what God has been telling to you to do. It's really that simple. ↗

— Shannon L. Alder

#home