Garner Owl Service Quotes

She wants to be flowers, but you make her owls. You must not complain, then, if she goes hunting.

I wanted us to have a holiday, not a ruddy breakdown.

That man’s gaga,” said Roger when they were out of hearing. “He’s so far gone he’s coming back.

Lleu is a hard lord,” said Huw, “He is killing Gronw without anger, without love, without mercy. He is hurt too much by the woman and the spear. Yet what is there when it is done? His pride. No spear. No friend.” Roger started at Huw. “You’re not so green as you’re grass-looking, are you?” he said. “Now you mention it, I have been thinking— That bloke Gronw was the only one with any real guts at the end.” “But none of them is all to blame,” said Huw. “It is only together they are destroying each other.” “That Blod-woman was pretty poor,” said Roger, “however you look at it.” “No,” said Huw. “She was made for her lord. Nobody is asking her if she wants him. It is bitter twisting to be shut up with a person you are not liking very much. I think she was longing for the time when she was flowers on the mountain, and it is making her cruel, as the rose is growing thorns.

The more I learn, the more I am convinced that there are no original stories. On several occasions I have “invented” an incident, and then come across it in an obscure fragment of Hebridean lore, orally collected, and privately printed, a hundred years ago.

The wood lay still. The air throbbed with insects, and flies hovered and disappeared and hovered. Meadowsweet grew in a mist of flowers, and the sun glinted on the threads of caterpillars which hung from the trees as thick as rain. “By,” said Gwyn, “there’s axiomatic.

The walls were shedding their texture and taking another in the pouncing feathers. Gwyn

What do I know?' said Huw, and Gwyn was frightened by the fear in Huw's eyes. 'What do I know?... I know more than I know... I don't know what I know... The weight, the weight of it!

She wants to be flowers, but you make her owls. You must not complain, then, if she goes hunting.

She was tall. Her long hair fell to her waist, framing in gold her pale and lovely face. Her eyes were blue. She wore a loose gown of white cambric, embroidered with living green stems of broom and meadowsweet, and a wreath of green oak leaves in here hair.

She was made for her lord. Nobody is asking her if she wants him. It is bitter twisting to be shut up with a person you are not liking very much. I think she is often longing for the time when she was flowers on the mountain, and it is making her cruel, as the rose is growing thorns.