Читать книгу The House That Is Our Own - Anna Masterton Buchan - Страница 2

CHAPTER I

My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits.

I am so lonely, years are so long,

I want you only, you and your song.

An ye had been where I hae been,

Ye wadna be sae canty-o,

An ye had seen what I hae seen

On the banks o’ Killiecrankie-o.

CHAPTER II

Merely to be alive is adventure enough in a world like

this, so erratic and disjointed, so lovely and so odd,

and mysterious and profound. It is, at any rate, a

pity to remain in it half-dead.

CHAPTER III

What I admire most is the total defiance of expense.

Rainy rainy Rattle-sticks, dinna rain on me,

Rain on Johnny Groat’s house far across the sea;

CHAPTER IV

A blessed thing it is for any man or woman to have a

friend, one whom we can trust utterly, who knows

the best and the worst of us, and who loves us just

the same.— Charles Kingsley

CHAPTER V

That place that does contain

My books, the best of company is to me,

A glorious Court where hourly I

Converse....

CHAPTER VI

When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear.

CHAPTER VII

It was warm, with a latent shiver in the air that made

the warmth only the more welcome.

CHAPTER VIII

Gives not the hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade

To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,

Than doth a rich-embroidered canopy

To Kings ... ?

CHAPTER IX

The old strange house that is our own.

Why do you walk through the fields in gloves,

O fat white woman whom nobody loves?

CHAPTER X

... Letters—not dissertations, not sentimental effusions,

not strings of witticisms; but real letters such as any

person of plain sense would be glad to receive.

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

Sir, I love the acquaintance of young people.

CHAPTER XIII

Every one of these islanders is himself an island.

CHAPTER XIV

Ah, sweet content, where is thy mild abode?

Is it with shepherds and light-hearted swains?

CHAPTER XV

Brave flowers! that I could gallant it like you

And be as little vain!

CHAPTER XVI

The things that do attain

The happy life be these, I find,

The riches left, not sot with pain,

The fruitful ground, the quiet mind.

CHAPTER XVII

Twa clear candles

Bonnily they shine.

The loaf is o’ the wheaten meal,

The cloth o’ the linen fine.

CHAPTER XVIII

I should have there this only fear

Lest men, when they my pleasure see,

Should hither throng to live like me,

And so make a city here.

CHAPTER XIX

At ilka turn a bit wanderin’ burn,

And a canty biggin’ on ilka lea—

There’s nocht see braw in the wide world’s schaw

As the heughs and holms o’ the South Countrie.

CHAPTER XX

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend ...

CHAPTER XXI

It’s rainin’ weet’s the garden-sod,

Weet the lang road where gangrels plod....

CHAPTER XXII

The ball no question makes of Ayes and Noes....

CHAPTER XXIII

The smell o’ the simmer hills,

Thyme and hinny and heather,

Juniper, birk and fern....

CHAPTER XXIV

I propose writing you every day. My opinions and

descriptions will depend on the health and humour of

the Moment in which I write, from which cause my

Sentiments will often appear to differ on the same

subject.— The Journal of a Lady of Quality

CHAPTER XXV

I see the grass shake in the sun for leagues on either hand.

I see a river loop...

CHAPTER XXVI

West and away from here to heaven still is the land.

CHAPTER XXVII

Go softly by that river-side, or when you would depart,

you’ll find its every winding tied and knotted

round your heart....

CHAPTER XXVIII

Feather-beds are saft,

Pentit homes are bonnie;

But a kiss o’ my dear love

Is better far than ony.

CHAPTER XXIX

All, World of ours, are you so grey,

And weary, World, of spinning,

That you repeat the tales to-day

You told at the beginning?

CHAPTER XXX

We may have to choose between barren ease and rich

unrest, or rather, one does not choose. Life somehow

chooses.— Winifred Holtby