British novelist (1831-1919)
There's times an angel can't be trusted, or so many wouldn't have lost themselves.
AMELIA E. BARR
A Singer from the Sea
To their inhabitants the sea is every thing. Their hopes and fears, their gains and losses, their joys and sorrows, are linked with it; and the largeness of the ocean has moulded their feelings and their characters. They are in a measure partakers of its immensity and its mystery. The commonest of their men have wrestled with the powers of the air, and the might of wind, and wave, and icy cold. The weakest of their women have felt the hallowing touch of sudden calamity, and of long, lonely, life-and-death, watches.
AMELIA E. BARR
A Daughter of Fife
For it is always the simple that produces the marvelous.
AMELIA E. BARR
All the Days of My Life
I knew of nothing I would like half as much, for, as soon as I was well, the thought of books was again a joy to me. We went to the library together, and men were unpacking large boxes of books, and bringing a long table on which to sort them, and a set of library steps, pens, ink, pencils, paper, and so forth. I promised only to sort the books in the afternoon, or when too wet to take my usual morning ride with him about the farm. Then he gave me the key of the room, and left me among a thousand books.
AMELIA E. BARR
All the Days of My Life
He is as weak as a bent flaxstalk, and to be weak is to be wicked.
AMELIA E. BARR
A Singer from the Sea
It was, however, the long, long nights, far more than the wonderful days, which impregnated my future--the dark, still nights full of hints and fine transitions, shadowy terrors, fleeting visions and marvelous dreams.
AMELIA E. BARR
All the Days of My Life
Childhood is fed on dreams—dreams waking, and dreams sleeping. My first sharp, clear, positive recollection is a dream—a sacred, secret dream, which I have never been able to speak of. When it came to me, I had not the words necessary to translate the vision into speech, and, as the years went on, I found myself more and more reluctant to name it. It was a vision dim and great, that could not be fitted into clumsy words, but it was clearer and surer to me, than the ground on which I trod. It is nearly seventy-eight years since I awoke that morning, trembling and thrilling in every sense with the wonder and majesty of what I had seen, but the vision is not dim, nor any part of it forgotten. It is my first recollection. Beyond—is the abyss. That it has eluded speech is no evidence of incompleteness, for God’s communion with man does not require the faculties of our mortal nature. It rather dispenses with them.
AMELIA E. BARR
All the Days of My Life