Martha Ostenso Quotes

But one had to go back to the beginning of things, always. Trace the thread of life - find the knot - untangle it.

The lush green of the fields became a rich gold that swayed sturdily under the wind and fell at last before the hands of the reapers.

it was a sly trick of God's to give a man work to do - it kept him from asking questions that God couldn't answer.

I don't see as it matters much how well you mean if it's harm you're doin'.

By mid-morning a rain as fine as silk spills was weaving over the lake.

A false vision was better than none.

Ah, life, life, how madly, how cruelly it raced along your pulses!

The past ... is a dim avenue down which we may walk and find the diverging paths of terror and beauty and passion.

The snow again. White, white net of beauty, net of dream, trapping the earth, trapping the helpless heart of life.

A sickness ... defines margins, crystallizes the shape of things.

You have stirred the soil with your plow, my friend. It will never be the same again.

Listen - man is a child of Nature. When he turns against his mother - he's done! He may not find out about it right away, but he will.

God, what pathetic creatures had inherited the earth, to walk a little while with their eyes upon the stars and turn their gaze too soon upon the ground that held their feet!

There's precious little comes of telling people what they don't want to hear.

Growing old was simply a process of drawing closer to that ultimate independence called death.

Time passed so much more slowly than space.

Here and there on the branch of an oak a congress of leaves still clung, rigid as flakes of bronze.

Religion is passionate, reckless, destructive, idol-smashing. It's a martyr burning at the stake. It's a crown of thorns and a cross.

Time, designing slowly, swiftly; Time, destroying slowly, swiftly; Time holding, possessing the earth in its tender indifference.

There is too much doing - too little being! When we begin to get strenuous, life begins to grow intolerable.

There was nothing so real on the prairie as winter, nothing so memorable.