I was a new writer and I was supposed to write all the time, wasn't I? I had not yet discovered that there are times when one can't write, one shouldn't write, times for thought, for deepening, or just reading,… — Stanley Crawford Copy Share Image
Winter is the time of promise because there is so little to do - or because you can now and then permit yourself the… — Stanley Crawford Copy Share
To dream a garden and then to plant it is an act of independence and even defiance to the greater world. — Stanley Crawford Copy Share
“Often he vanished for days down the spiral staircase into the engine-room to overhaul the weary machinery, leaving me with a curt note tacked… — Stanley Crawford Copy Share
Perhaps it was Maggie, perhaps not. In solitary moments magpies will perch on a branch and mutter soft soliloquies of whines and squeals and… — Stanley Crawford Copy Share
“So that where I once did not know who or what you were, now I wonder who I or we are, or what. What… — Stanley Crawford Copy Share
I was a new writer and I was supposed to write all the time, wasn't I? I had not yet discovered that there are… — Stanley Crawford Copy Share
“Finally when he climbed below deck after dark, wondering where his dinner was, perhaps with a storm come up and rough seas and blinding… — Stanley Crawford Copy Share
“So what about you?" I would conclude. "What about your life? Is it organically lived?" Here I might pause to summon up the courage… — Stanley Crawford Copy Share
There is always something rough and tumble about planting - because with our clumsy implements we must reach from our atmospheric element down into… — Stanley Crawford Copy Share
