Garden work clears the mind.
Some things can be both real and imaginary at the same time, . . . some lies can be true, . . . broken faith may be restored.
Sheep are not the docile, pleasant creatures of the pastoral idyll. Any countryman will tell you that. They are sly, occasionally vicious, pathologically stupid. The lenient shepherd may find his flock unruly, definant. I cannot afford to be lenient.
Anything that can be dreamed is true.
It isn't just a village. The houses aren't just places to live. Everything belongs to everybody. Everyone belongs to everyone else. Even a single person can make a difference.
The past is an obdurate stranger that puts as many marks on us as we attempt to impose on it.
To be closed from everything, and yet to feel, to think...This is the truth of hell, stripped of its gaudy medievalisms. This loss of contact.
I sell dreams, small comforts, sweet harmless temptations to bring down a multitude of saints crashing among the hazels and nougatines
It's a feeling which tells me that any woman can be beautiful in the eyes of a man who loves her.
I am fascinated by how people eat and what it reveals about them.
The process of giving is without limits.
For me, the magic of Hawaii comes from the stillness, the sea, the stars.
I'm insatiably curious.
I could do with a bit more excess. From now on I'm going to be immoderate--and volatile--I shall enjoy loud music and lurid poetry. I shall be rampant.
Their love was something which coloured the air between them like sunlight.
A man may plant a tree for a number of reasons. Perhaps he likes trees. Perhaps he wants shelter. Or perhaps he knows that someday he may need the firewood.
I'm incapable of hiding my feelings when I'm around someone I don't like.
I like autumn. The drama of it; the golden lion roaring through the back door of the year, shaking its mane of leaves. A dangerous time; of violent rages and deceptive calm, of fireworks in the pockets and conkers in the fist.
The great thing about books is that you can end with a question mark.
The wind always brings us back to the same wall
You priests. You're all the same. You think fasting helps you think about God, when anyone who can cook would tell you that fasting just makes you think about food.
Drunkeness, she told us in a rare moment of confidence, is a sin against the fruit, the tree, the wine itself. Wine, distilled and nurtured from bud into fruit; it deserves reverance. Joy. Gentleness. (Page 194.)
Clones fit in. Freaks stand out. Ask me which one I prefer.
Remember, it's the winners write the history books, and the losers get the leavings.
Anything based on ancient texts is difficult for a modern reader to get their head around.
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