Rachel Field Quotes
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When I was young they used to say people only threw stones at the tree that was loaded with fruit.
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And scandal has a way of catching up with those who disregard its power.
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No hardy perennial has the enduring quality of hope. Cut it to the roots, stamp it underfoot, let frost and fire work their will, and still some valiant shoot will push, to grow again on such scanty fare as it can find. Only time and the cruel quicklime of fact can destroy that stubborn urgency.
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Too much good fortune can make you smug and unaware. Happiness should be like an oasis, the greener for the desert that surrounds it.
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no matter how hard and faithfully we may try we can never compensate another for some lack in his or her life.
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I've seen public opinion shift like the wind and put out the very fire it lighted.
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One of the pleasantest things about book writing is that sometimes it brings one in touch with old friends.
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It's terrible when the weak are also cruel for then we are defenseless against them.
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You know the public is more easily swayed by persons than by principles.
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The sight of a cage is only frightening to the bird that has once been caught.
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There's plenty of fire in the coldest flint!
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I was never one to begrudge people their memories. From a child I would listen when they spoke of the past.
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The difference between ambition and discontent is quite a fine line and sometimes it is hard to tell which is which and which you are feeling!
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A little town is like a lantern. Nothing's hid from sight.
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Isnt it strange some people make You feel so tired inside, Your thoughts begin to shrivel up Like leaves all brown and dried!But when youre with some other ones Its stranger still to find Your thought as thick as fireflies All shiny in your mind!
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There was no reality to pain when it left one, though while it held one fast all other realities faded.
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Something told the wild geese It was time to go. Though the fields lay golden Something whispered, "snow." Leaves were green and stirring, Berries, luster-glossed, But beneath warm feathers Something cautioned, "frost." All the sagging orchards Steamed with amber spice But each wild breast stiffened At remembered ice. Something told the wild geese It was time to fly- Summer sun was on their wings, Winter in their cry.
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...his hoofbeats fall like rain, over and over again.
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I used to think I had ambition... but now I'm not so sure. It may have been only discontent. They're easily confused.
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Doorbells are like a magic game, Or the grab-bag at a fair -- You never know when you hear one ring Who may be waiting there.
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