“...I wondered why so much had been written about love's pain and so little about the glorious relief of being delivered from love's pain.” — Irene Hunt Copy Share Image
That was the way it was that beautiful evening of cold November rain and muddy country roads and crazy windshield wipers. That was the… — Irene Hunt Copy Share
“I had sparkle that morning, sparkle that originated somewhere deep inside me and spread outward to my cheeks and eyes, even it seemed, to… — Irene Hunt Copy Share
“From my window I watched the full moon—a moon that reminded me of Brett—become shadowed, little by little until there was only a deep… — Irene Hunt Copy Share
It happens the world over - we love ourselves more than we do the one we say we love. We all want to be… — Irene Hunt Copy Share
“...I wondered why so much had been written about love's pain and so little about the glorious relief of being delivered from love's pain.” — Irene Hunt Copy Share
“Dear Julie: If I didn't feel that there is some good in your story, I wouldn't take the time to write a criticism of… — Irene Hunt Copy Share
I was especially perceptive to all things beautiful that morning-raspberries in blue china bowls were enough to make the heart sing. — Irene Hunt Copy Share
“that old Mrs. Bishop was lacking in the qualities that make a good mother. And saying it that way makes her sound a good… — Irene Hunt Copy Share
“One never stops climbing, Julie, unless he wants to stop and vegetate. There’s always something just ahead.” — Irene Hunt Copy Share
“We had good long talks about my writing in the days that followed. "Write of things you know, Julie; familiar, simple things that you… — Irene Hunt Copy Share
“Then a skeleton came out from among the trees. It was the skeleton of a Union soldier, though the uniform it wore was so… — Irene Hunt Copy Share
“On such a night,’ I thought, ‘were ill and good, Bright and unlovely; precious, tawdry, All mingled into one And pressed against my heart.” — Irene Hunt Copy Share
“And then suddenly Danny's arms were around me, and his lips were on mine, and the crazy windshield wipers commenced singing our names together.” — Irene Hunt Copy Share
