Mary Webb Quotes

Saddle your dreams before you ride em.

If you stop to be kind, you must swerve often from your path.

Green is the fresh emblem of well founded hopes. In blue the spirit can wander, but in green it can rest.

Nature's music is never over; her silences are pauses, not conclusions.

The well of Providence is deep. It's the buckets we bring to it that are small.

The past is only the present become invisible and mute; and because it is invisible and mute, its memorized glances and its murmurs are infinitely precious. We are tomorrow's past.

Autumn is full of leave-taking. In September the swallows are chattering of destination and departure like a crowd of tourists.

For the more a soul conforms to the sanity of others, the more does it become insane.

It's the folks that depend on us for this and for the other that we most do miss.

Give me good digestion, Lord, And also something to digest; but where and how that something comes I leave to Thee, who knoweth best.

If you know much about your work - why you work, how you work, your aims - you are probably not a poet.

The more anybody wants a thing, the more they do think others want it.

Fragrance is the voice of inanimate things.

it is the way of lovers to think that none can bless or succour their love but their own selves. And there is a touch of truth in it, maybe more than a touch.

But when you dwell in a house you mislike, you will look out of a window a deal more than those that are content with their dwelling.

Autumn is full of leave-taking.

She had for so many years been trying to be like other people, that she was now like nothing in heaven or earth.

It made me gladsome to be getting some education, it being like a big window opening.

We are tomorrow's past.

Saddle your dreams afore you ride 'em.

It made me gladsome to be getting some education it being like a big window opening.

Beguildy looked at me over the rim of a great measure of mead. 'Saddle your dreams afore you ride 'em, my wench, ' he said.

I thought she had a good heart, though not much respectability- or maybe it was because of that.

She had so deep a kinship with the trees, so intuitive a sympathy with leaf and flower, that it seemed as if the blood in her veins was not slow-moving human blood, but volatile sap.