9 Quotes by Wilma Dykeman

There standing with its hard firmness beneath her feet, her head and face bared to the wind that swept up from the deep valley below and broke in torrents against this ledge, she regained an inner quiet, a stillness she could not name or identify. It was as essential to her existence, however--had been even when she was still a child--as water or food itself.

Out there beyond this brief charmed circle, all around them, invading even our own minds, was something that disbelieved and destroyed and defeated. She knew it and recognized its power and yet she would never cease to deny it. In this moment of large weakness she suddenly knew large strength, a core buried deep within her that would refuse to be daunted by the outrageous blows or the niggling trifles human life was heir to.

Sometimes it seemed to Lydia that work was the only certainty, the only lasting truth in a human world of fitful change. Work and the mountains remained. Joy was deceitful and as brief as a summer rainbow. Love was a spear upon which you hurled yourself in ecstasy--to discover pain and bear the wound forever. A man in your heart, the child of your flesh, a dream of your spirit--you gave yourself to them, wholly and in wonder, and they never knew you.

How strange, she thought, that she could hate and love in the same breath.

There standing with its hard firmness beneath her feet, her head and face bared to the wind that swept up from the deep valley below and broke in torrents against this ledge, she regained an inner quiet, a stillness she could not name or identify. It was as essential to her existence, however – had been even when she was still a child – as water or food itself.

Sometimes it seemed to Lydia that work was the only certainty, the only lasting truth in a human world of fitful change. Work and the mountains remained. Joy was deceitful and as brief as a summer rainbow. Love was a spear upon which you hurled yourself in ecstasy – to discover pain and bear the wound forever. A man in your heart, the child of your flesh, a dream of your spirit – you gave yourself to them, wholly and in wonder, and they never knew you.

Sometimes it seemed that work was the only certainty, the only lasting truth in a human world of fitful change. Work and the mountains remained.

Better wear out than rust out.

Did you ever think how wonderful to have so much ahead of us? There’s a whole lifetime to be lived, all sorts of undreamed surprises to come, people to know, things to be done – and we’re here! Sometimes I come right up against thinking about it and I’m so full of joy it fills plumb to the brim, like the psalmist’s cup that just runs over.