It was true, she thought, that the big things awe us but the little things touch us.
Bess Streeter AldrichHours fly...Flowers die.
Bess Streeter Aldrich..Like the cavities of missing teeth in some giant denture, into which new ones were to be fitted.
Bess Streeter AldrichElla held herself rigidly against all emotion until she arrived at the dark haven of her room. Then she threw herself across her bed and cried because life was such a tragic thing.
Bess Streeter AldrichSeventy-five years ago a young woman kept a diary in which she wrote some of her innermost thoughts, many of the daily happenings, and all of the weather. This story is the fictionalized version of the real diary. The thoughts more or less trite pedantic have been curtailed, the happenings (for obvious reasons) sometimes changed, but the weather remains practically intact. ...So step out of the yellowed diary, Linnie Colsworth,.... Recreate yourself from the fading ink of it's pages and help us understand something of the stanch heart that beat under those hard little stays, bidding you defy convention three-quarters of a century ago.
Bess Streeter Aldrich...And how that girl did talk against time to make us think she was crazy about her Louie. She called attention to his honesty and his ability and his nose and the shape of his feet and his blue blood and his energy and what-have-you, and all the time, I was dying to quote that smart old Billy Shakespeare who was just as wordy as she was: 'Methinks the lady doth protest too much.
Bess Streeter AldrichHe [Sam] wrote it with great flourishes, his hand making many dizzy elliptical journeys before it settled down to make a elaborate 'E' with a curving tail as long as some prehistoric baboons.
Bess Streeter Aldrich...The last name had been entered by Samuel Peters' agile pen with much shading of downward strokes and many extra corkscrew appendages...
Bess Streeter AldrichAnd of course, everybody thinks it's just like it used to be when the Indians jazzed around and played 'You're it' with arrows.
Bess Streeter Aldrich...Uncle Harry Wentworth's dollar was turned deep under the sod. But though the sun shone on it and the rain fell, nothing ever came from it,—not a green thing nor a singing thing nor a human soul.
Bess Streeter Aldrich« first previous
Page 2 of 4.
next last »
Data privacy
Imprint
Contact
Diese Website verwendet Cookies, um Ihnen die bestmögliche Funktionalität bieten zu können.