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The curious thing about fishing is you never want to go home. If you catch something, you can't stop. If you don't catch anything, you hate to leave in case something might bite.

Gladys Taber

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Gladys Taber
Age: 80 †
Born: 1899
Born: April 12
Died: 1980
Died: March 11
Author
Writer
Colorado Springs
Colorado
Gladys Bagg Taber
Might
Curious
Thing
Case
Something
Cases
Never
Leave
Stop
Bite
Hate
Bites
Home
Fishing
Anything
Catch

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Life is a process of discovery, of new perceptions.
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June in New England is like a lover's dream made tangible.
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Christmas is a bridge. We need bridges as the river of time flows past. Today's Christmas should mean creating happy hours for tomorrow and reliving those of yesterday.
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History records the large events or the general condition of society, but only an individual can put down the way of life in a small town.
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November wind has a sound different from any other. It is easy to imagine the cave of the winds in some mythical Northland where the winds are born and the gods send them out to conquer the quiet air.
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My general attitude toward life when I first get up is of deep suspicion, verging on hatred. ... I am simply basted together until after breakfast.
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Happiness of heart can never be measured out and bundled up, it's intangible. We keep running after it, grasping for it, and the heat of our running so seldom brings it closer. But now and then there may be a moment. We look at something and know it is good and beautiful. Those moments are happiness.
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After all, catching something is purely a by-product of our fishing. It is the act of fishing that wipes away all grief, lightens all worry, dissolves fear and anxiety.
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If I had Aladdin's lamp and the usual three wishes, the first would always be, 'Give me the first day of June.
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Perhaps, after all, our best thoughts come when we are alone. It is good to listen, not to voices but to the wind blowing, to the brook running cool over polished stones, to bees drowsy with the weight of pollen. If we attend to the music of the earth, we reach serenity. And then, in some unexplained way, we share it with others.
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The creative instincts, the love force must be nourished with every beat of our hearts until they overbalance the destructive instincts.
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Long cold nights mark November's return, grey rains fall, wind walks in the bronze oak leaves.
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Christmas is a bridge. We need bridges as the river of time flows past.
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There is a kind of immortality in every garden.
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April is a promise of what's to come.
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the real evidence of growing older is that things level off in importance ... Days are no longer jagged peaks to climb time is a meadow, and we move over it with level steps.
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The real evidence of growing older is that things level off in importance.
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Father was the most unreconciled taxpayer I ever knew.
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Almost all words do have colour and nothing is more pleasant than to utter a pink word and see someone's eyes light up and know it is a pink word for him or her too.
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Being a good neighbor is an art which makes life richer.
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