I want my words to survive translation.
I dream of land, cut only where streams glistened with birdsong wander through quiet hills burnt hard by the scrape of wind, and of a porch from which a single road leads only homeward.
The best thing a girl can be is a good wife and mother. It is a girl's highest calling. I hope I am ready.
My life feels like a book left out on the porch, and the wind blows the pages faster and faster, turning always toward a new chapter faster than I can stop to read it.
How is it possible for me to feel so young and so old at the same time?
I have a deep-down belief that there are folks in the world who are good through and through, and others who came in mean and will go out mean. It's like coffee. Once it's roasted, it all looks brown. Until you pour hot water on it and see what comes out. Folks get into hot water, you see what comes out.
Sometimes I feel like a tree on a hill, at the place where all the wind blows and the hail hits the tree the hardest. All the people I love are down the side aways, sheltered under a great rock, and I am out of the fold, standing alone in the sun and the snow. I feel like I am not part of the rest somehow, although they welcome me and are kind. I see my family as they sit together and it is like they have a certain way between them that is beyond me. I wonder if other folks ever feel included yet alone.
We're all collectors by nature. But if you're talking about an orderly life, there has to be a stop sign somewhere. Building a collection requires a strong constitution and the ability to resist.
The constitution expects every man to do his duty; and when he fails the law urges him; or should he do too much; the same master rebukes him.
Only the guy who isn't rowing has time to rock the boat.
No faith is our own that we have not arduously won.