43 Quotes by Mary Webb

The past is only the present become invisible and mute; its memoried glances and its murmurs are infinitely precious.

She had so deep a kinship with the trees, so intuitive a sympathy with leaf and flower, that it seemed as if the blood in her veins was not slow-moving human blood, but volatile sap.

[...]we are all as full of echoes as a rocky wood--echoes of the past, reflex echoes of the future, and echoes of the soil (these last reverberating through our filmiest dreams, like the sound of thunder in a blossoming orchard).

Nature's music is never over; her silences are pauses, not conclusions.

If you stop to be kind, you must swerve often from your path.

Give me good digestion, Lord, And also something to digest; but where and how that something comes I leave to Thee, who knoweth best.

The past is only the present become invisible and mute; and because it is invisible and mute, its memorized glances and its murmurs are infinitely precious. We are tomorrow's past.

Fragrance is the voice of inanimate things.

Autumn is full of leave-taking. In September the swallows are chattering of destination and departure like a crowd of tourists.