Tag: beryl_markham

It makes you feel bigger than you are.
Where would a word fall except on the wind?
This, he continued to say, this of all places is no place for us!
If only there were someone to trust — someone I know.
I think. I scribble notes.
A place of good omen, a place of beginning things.
All things to remember; some dark, some light.
Little things, foolish things that come to me without reason and fade again.
I think, I ponder, I recall a hundred things.
The birds sing, but they have no song that I can hear.
The sky was as clear as a window one morning.
All the things that grew paused in their growing.
Who doesn’t look upward when searching for a name?
Will it have the anger to feed and to grow and to demand its needs?
Will it breathe when it is meant to breathe?
No one speaks because there is nothing to say. But there are things to wonder.
Let us talk of better things!
We cannot help, but we can watch.
There is only time for patience and care.
There is no time for mystery.
Everything else goes on as it always has.
She did not move, and he did not.
The world had changed without any reason that I could see.
We laid down our weapons and rested under the trees.
And I was disappointed.
He was thinking many things.
Each hut had a single door, a low door that could only be entered by crouching, and there were no windows.
There was no sound and no wind.
He was not asleep; he was only idle.
I knew there was nothing more to be said.
This kind of silence can speak. Its voice may be melancholy, but it is not always so.
There is the silence of emptiness, the silence of fear, the silence of doubt.
There is silence after a rainstorm, and before a rainstorm, and these are not the same.
There are all kinds of silences and each of them means a different thing.
There must have been other things to say.
Ahead of me lies a land that is unknown to the rest of the world.