Elizabeth Goudge
Elizabeth Goudge
Elizabeth de Beauchamp Goudge FRSLwas an English author of novels, short stories and children's books as Elizabeth Goudge. She won the Carnegie Medal for British children's books in 1946 for The Little White Horse. She was a best-selling author in both the UK and the US from the 1930s through the 1970s...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionWriter
Date of Birth24 April 1900
mysterious quite
Butterflies... not quite birds, as they were not quite flowers, mysterious and fascinating as are all indeterminate creatures.
nice struggle might
One was born a certain sort of person, and though by ceasless struggle one might become as nice as that sort of person ever is, one could never become as nice as a nicer sort of person.
fear faces done
She realized with deep respect that this woman had always done what she had to do and faced what she had to face. If many of her fears and burdens would have seemed unreal to another woman, there was nothing unreal about her courage.
book reading storm
In times of storm and tempest, of indecision and desolation, a book already known and loved makes better reading than something new and untried ... nothing is so warming and companionable.
bears
All we are asked to bear we can bear.
night doubt stronger
Faith given back to us after a night of doubt is a stronger thing, and far more valuable to us than faith that has never been tested.
winter light flames
The dawn came - not the flaming sky that promises storm, but a golden dawn of infinite promise. The birds came flying up out of the east in wedge-shaped formation, and the mist lifted in soft wreaths of sun-shot silver. Colour came back to the world. The grass glowed with a green so vivid that it seemed pulsing, like flame, from some hidden fire in the earth, the distant woods took on all the amazing deep crimsons and purples of their winter colouring, the banks were studded with their jewels of lichens and bright moss, and above the wet hedges shone with sun-shot orbs of light.
song flower moon
Water, wind and birdsong were the echoes in this quiet place of a great chiming symphony that was surging around the world. Knee-deep in grasses and moon daisies, Stella stood and listened, swaying a little as the flowers and trees were swaying, her spirit voice singing loudly, though her lips were still, and every pulse in her body beating its hammer strokes in time to the song.
pain sleep sunshine
There was a good deal to be said, Hilary decided, for middle age and infirmity. The years in which one demanded much of life were left behind, together with the bitterness of not getting what one wanted. One's values, too, were altered. Gifts that once one took for granted, sunshine and birdsong, freedom from pain, sleep and one's daily bread, seemed now so extraordinarily precious.
dog ease terror
A well-trained dog is like religion, it sets the deserving at their ease and is a terror to evildoers.
giving one-love deeper
One is seldom unchanged by the death of those one loves. It gives me a deeper knowledge of them, and so of oneself in regard to them.
character weather too-much
In my opinion, too much attention to weather makes for instability of character.
hate waste
Don't waste hate on pink geranium.
clever blood brave
But a hare, now, that is a different thing altogether. A hare is not a pet but a person. Hares are clever and brave and loving, and they have fairy blood in them. It’s a grand thing to have a hare for a friend.