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Old houses, I thought, do not belong to people ever, not really, people belong to them.

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
Belong
House
Thought
Ever
Really
People
Houses

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Pride may go before a fall, but jealousy goes before destruction.
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Father was the most unreconciled taxpayer I ever knew.
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A good recipe for a human reducing breakfast is a lot of good things to eat, and three spaniels and two cats to eat with.
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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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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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I suppose I am a sparrow, a stay-at-home bird.
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Faith is a curious thing. It must be renewed it has its own spring.
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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.
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The real evidence of growing older is that things level off in importance.
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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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Most cats feel that bird-catching is their duty the instinct goes back to prehistoric times. Amber keeps in practice by chasing moths.
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Christmas is a bridge. We need bridges as the river of time flows past.
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Being a good neighbor is an art which makes life richer.
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Nothing makes a house cozier than cats.
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the tentacles of today reach out like an octopus to swallow yesterday.
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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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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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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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Happiness is a thing of now.
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Life is a process of discovery, of new perceptions.
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