Mary Webb

We are tomorrow's past.

The past is only the present become invisible and mute; and because it is invisible and mute, its memorized glances and its murmurs are infinitely precious. We are tomorrow's past.

Give me good digestion, Lord, And also something to digest; but where and how that something comes I leave to Thee, who knoweth best.

Saddle your dreams before you ride 'em.

Nature's music is never over; her silences are pauses, not conclusions.

Saddle your dreams before you ride em.

If you stop to be kind, you must swerve often from your path.

We are all as full of echoes as a rocky wood echoes of the past reflex echoes of the future and echoes of the soil these last reverberating through our filmiest dreams like the sound of thunder in a blossoming orchard.