“Bees blew like cake-crumbs through the golden air, white butterflies like sugared wafers, and when it wasn't raining a diamond dust took over which veiled and yet magnified all things”

“She leaned out of the window slow and sleepy, and the light came through her nightdress like sand through a sieve.”

“This tiny, white-washed Infants' room was a brief but cosy anarchy. In that short time allowed us we played and wept, broke things, fell asleep, cheeked the teacher, discovered things we could do t...”

“The prospect Smiler was a manic farmer. Few men I think can have been as unfortunate as he; for on the one hand he was a melancholic with a loathing for mankind, on the other, some paralysis had tw...”

“Granny Trill and Granny Wallon were traditional ancients of a kind we wont see today, the last of that dignity of grandmothers to whom age was its own embellishment. The grandmothers of those days ...”

“Me dad planted that tree, she said absently, pointing out through the old cracked window.The great beech filled at least half the sky and shook shadows all over the house.Its roots clutched the slo...”

“Awestruck, Flora stared at the dishevelled sisters with their blazing faces and radiant ragged wings, who smelled of no kin but the wild high air.”

“She leaned out of the window slow and sleepy, and the light came through her nightdress like sand through a sieve.”

“I drank, sucking the blood out of the holes, experiencing for the first time since infancy the special pleasure of sucking nourishment, the body focused with the mind upon one vital source.”

“You know (to adopt the easy or conversational style) that you and I belong to a happy minority. We are the sons of the hunters and the wandering singers, and from our boyhood nothing ever gave us g...”

“It's not like you can just stop loving someone overnight”

“But sometimes even people who care about each other need some time apart.”

“...and the country is like a great unfolded mantle with a green velvet cape bordered with a fringe of silver.”

“Night simply drapes itself over the dayAs if someone had lowered a curtain.The sky glitters and moves,Filled with shooting stars and fireflies.”

“In the infancy of society every author is necessarily a poet, because language itself is poetry. Owen Barfield”