But your eyes, Susan, full of turnips and cornfields, disturb me.
— Virginia Woolf, The Waves
Fear is inevitable, I have to accept that, but I cannot allow it to paralyze me.
— Isabel Allende, The Sum of Our Days: A Memoir (via observando)
A little later, remembering man’s earthly origin, ‘dust thou art and to dust thou shalt return,’ they liked to fancy themselves bubbles of earth. When alone in the fields, with no one to see them, they would hop, skip, and jump, touching the ground as lightly as possible and crying ‘We are bubbles of earth! Bubbles of earth! Bubbles of earth!’
— Flora Thompson, Lark Rise
Take a July night, for instance. About ten o’clock, -when man is asleep, and day fairly forgotten,- the beauty of moonlight is seen over lonely pastures where cattle are silently feeding. On all sides novelties present themselves. Instead of the sun there are the moon and stars, instead of the wood-thrush there is the whip-poor-will,-instead of butterflies in the meadows, fireflies, winged sparks of fire! Who would have believed it?
— Henry David Thoreau, Excursions
Glaciers move in tides.
So do mountains.
So do all things.
— John Muir, Letters from Alaska
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