The Cicada sing an endless song in the long grass, smells run along the earth and falling stars run over the sky, like tears over a cheek. You are the privileged person to whom everything is taken. The Kings of… — Isak Dinesen Copy Share Image
The air was cold to the lungs, the long grass dripping wet, and the herbs on it gave out their spiced astringent scent. In a little while on all sides the Cicada would begin to sing. The grass was me… — Isak Dinesen Copy Share Image
Your own self, your personality and existence are reflected within the mind of each of the people whom you meet, ... into a likeness,… — Isak Dinesen Copy Share Image
When we are young the idea of death or failure is intolerable to us; even the possibility of ridicule we cannot bear. But we… — Isak Dinesen Copy Share Image
Here and there, in some older houses, old faded daguerreotypes still hang on the walls... They seem to us to be very simple... compared… — Isak Dinesen Copy Share Image
“It is more than their land that you take away from the people, whose Native land you take. It is their past as well,… — Isak Dinesen Copy Share Image
There was a place in the Hills, on the first ridge in the Game Reserve, that I myself at the time when I thought… — Isak Dinesen Copy Share Image
If I know a song of Africa, of the giraffe and the African new moon lying on her back, of the plows in the… — Isak Dinesen Copy Share Image
People who dream when they sleep at night know of a special kind of happiness which the world of the day holds not, a… — Isak Dinesen Copy Share Image
