The thing one resents about winter is its inactivity; the perpetual sameness of ice-armored hills and snow-blanketed woods. Great things, of course, may be going on underneath; but nature wears a mask, is icily non-committal. — Anne Bosworth Greene Copy Share Image
With writing ... you must keep in the habit. After a lapse it will take you not an hour, but a week, a month,… — Anne Bosworth Greene Copy Share Image
My field-mouse had made a set of brand-new tracks; here and there they etched themselves, following the brown flowers. It seemed as if uncommon… — Anne Bosworth Greene Copy Share Image
But I shall like my battle. This sort of day puts one in mood for it. Plenty of wood in the shed, jam and… — Anne Bosworth Greene Copy Share Image
I love old moons. There is something humanized about them; they are dulled a little, and rich in color. One can stare all night… — Anne Bosworth Greene Copy Share Image
How different a loved and familiar spot appears, when viewed with the eye of probable guests. — Anne Bosworth Greene Copy Share Image
A farm is like a very large and extended baby. It takes a great deal of time and very little mentality. — Anne Bosworth Greene Copy Share Image
November at its best - with a sort of delightful menace in the air. — Anne Bosworth Greene Copy Share Image
a sarcastic expression, on a beast, is far more sinister than rage. — Anne Bosworth Greene Copy Share Image
Songs are usually unfit for whistling - indeed, whistling (except to the person doing it) is unbearable. — Anne Bosworth Greene Copy Share Image
What a strange joy it was to talk, to fish gleefully into the past and fling its fragments about us, with the unfailing aroma… — Anne Bosworth Greene Copy Share Image
