Well, thought Winnie, crossing her arms on the windowsill, she was different. Things had happened to her that were hers alone, and had nothing to do with them. It was the first time. And no amount of telling about it could help them understand or share what she felt. It was satisfying and lonely, both at once.
Natalie BabbittFor some, time passes slowly. An hour can seem like an eternity. For others, there was never enough. For Jesse Tuck, it didn't exist.
Natalie BabbittThe first week of August hangs at the very top of the summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. Often at night there is lightning, but it quivers all alone. There is no thunder, no relieving rain. These are strange and breathless days, the dog days, when people are led to do things they are sure to be sorry for after.
Natalie BabbittAnd suddenly, she longed for a thunderstorm.
Natalie Babbitt...with white dawns and glaring moons, and sunsets smeared with too much color.
Natalie BabbittTag: beautiful tuck-everlasting
Time is like a wheel. Turning and turning - never stopping. And the woods are the center; the hub of the wheel. It began the first week of summer, a strange and breathless time when accident, or fate, bring lives together. When people are led to do things, they've never done before. On this summer's day, not so very long ago, the wheel set lives in motion in mysterious ways.
Natalie BabbittThe first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning.
Natalie BabbittDo not fear death, but rather the unlived life. You don't have to live forever. You just have to live.
Natalie BabbittFacts are the barren branches on which we hang the dear, obscuring foliage of our dreams.
Natalie BabbittLife always seems to have worries, even if you own a big and beautiful house on the best street in town.
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