“All the spring may be hidden in the single bud, and the low ground nest of the lark may hold the joy that is to herald the feet of many rose-red dawns.”

“You told me once," I say to Ky, holding up the bud for him to see and then pressing it into his hand, "that red was the color of beginning." He smiles. The color of beginning. For a moment, a memory flickers in and out. It is a rare moment in spring when both buds on the trees and flowers on the ground are red. The air is cool and at the same time warm. Grandfather watches me, his eyes bright and determined.”

“And though the symptons of lovesickness may be many, they all share a single cause and single cure: you.”

“The owl goes not into the nest of the lark.”

“The little house is not too smallTo shelter friends who come to call.Though low the roof and small its spaceIt holds the Lord's abounding grace,And every simple room may beEndowed with happy memory.The little house, severly plain,A wealth of beauty may contain.Within it those who dwell may findHigh faith which makes for peace of mind,And that sweet understanding whichCan make the poorest cottage rich.The little house can hold all thingsFrom which the soul's contentment springs.'Tis not too small for love to grow,For all the joys that mortals know,For mirth and song and that delightWhich make the humblest dwelling bright.”

“If the skies fall, one may hope to catch larks.”