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Long cold nights mark November's return, grey rains fall, wind walks in the bronze oak leaves.

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
Long
Rain
Mark
Rains
Return
Bronze
Wind
Oaks
Cold
November
Walks
Nights
Fall
Grey
Night
Leaves

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the tentacles of today reach out like an octopus to swallow yesterday.
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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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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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Faith is a curious thing. It must be renewed it has its own spring.
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The real evidence of growing older is that things level off in importance.
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My own recipe for world peace is a bit of land for everyone.
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June in New England is like a lover's dream made tangible.
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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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There must be hundreds of unsung heroes and heroines who first tasted strange things growing - and think of the man who first ate a lobster. This staggers the imagination. I salute him every time I take my nutcracker in hand and move the melted-butter pipkin closer.
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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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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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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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There is a kind of immortality in every garden.
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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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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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Christmas is a bridge. We need bridges as the river of time flows past.
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Old houses, I thought, do not belong to people ever, not really, people belong to them.
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Happiness is a thing of now.
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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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