There was nothing but land; not a country at all, but the material out of which countries are made.
Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.
There seemed to be nothing to see; no fences, no creeks or trees, no hills or fields. If there was a road, I could not make it out in the faint starlight. There was nothing but land: not a country at all, but the material out of which countries are made.
There is something frank and joyous and young in the open face of the country. It gives itself ungrudgingly to the moods of the season, holding nothing back.
Yet the summer which was to change everything was coming nearer every day. When boys and girls are growing up, life can't stand still, not even in the quietest of country towns; and they have to grow up, whether they will or no. That is what their elders are always forgetting.
The history of every country begins in the heart of a man or a woman.
In a few hours one could cover that incalculable distance; from the winter country and homely neighbours, to the city where the air trembled like a tuning-fork with unimaginable possibilities.
Merely having seen the season change in a country gave one the sense of having been there for a long time.
Of all the bewildering things about a new country, the absence of human landmarks is one of the most depressing and disheartening.
People always think the bread of another country is better than their own.
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