Wilson Rawls Quotes

I buried Little Ann by the side of Old Dan. I knew that was where she wanted to be. I also buried a part of my life along with my dog.

It's strange indeed how memories can lie dormant in a man's mind for so many years. Yet those memories can be awakened and brought forth fresh and new, just by something you've seen, or something you've heard, or the sight of an old familiar face.

After the last shovel of dirt was patted in place, I sat down and let my mind drift back through the years. I thought of the old K. C. Baking Powder can, and the first time I saw my pups in the box at the depot. I thought of the fifty dollars, the nickels and dimes, and the fishermen and blackberry patches. I looked at his grave and, with tears in my eyes, I voiced these words: "You were worth it, old friend, and a thousand times over.

There is a little good in all evil.

I had heard the old Indian legend about the red fern. How a little Indian boy and girl were lost in a blizzard and had frozen to death. In the spring, when they were found, a beautiful red fern had grown up between their two bodies. The story went on to say that only an angel could plant the seeds of a red fern, and that they never died; where one grew, that spot was sacred.

With a heavy heart, I turned and walked away. I knew that as long as I lived I'd never forget the two little graves and the sacred red fern.

Old Dan must have known he was dying. Just before he drew his last breath, he opened his eyes and looked at me. Then with one last sigh, and a feeble thump of his tail, his friendly gray eyes closed forever.

I'm sure the red fern has grown and has completely covered the two little mounds. I know it is still there, hiding its secret beneath those long, red leaves, but it wouldn't be hidden from me for part of my life is buried there, too. Yes, I know it is still there, for in my heart I believe the legend of the sacred red fern.

What I saw was more than I could stand. The noise I heard had been made by Little Ann. All her life she had slept by Old Dan's side. And although he was dead, she had left the doghouse, had come back to the porch, and snuggled up by his side.

Everyone suffers, even the good Lord suffered when he was on Earth.

No, Billy, not every time. He only answers the ones that are said from the heart. You have to be sincere and believe in Him.

It’s a shame that people all over the world can’t have that kind of love in their hearts,” he said. “There would be no wars, slaughter, or murder; no greed or selfishness. It would be the kind of world that God wants us to have—a wonderful world.

I found her lying on her stomach, her hind legs stretched out straight, and her front feet folded back under her chest. She had laid her head on his grave. I saw the trail where she had dragged herself through the leaves. The way she lay there, I thought she was alive. I called her name. She made no movement. With the last ounce of strength in her body, she had dragged herself to the grave of Old Dan.

Men," said Mr. Kyle, "people have been trying to understand dogs ever since the beginning of time. One never knows what they'll do. You can read every day where a dog saved the life of a drowning child, or lay down his life for his master. Some people call this loyalty. I don't. I may be wrong, but I call it love--the deepest kind of love.

Men," said Mr. Kyle, "people have been trying to understand dogs ever since the beginning of time. One never knows what they'll do. You can read every day where a dog saved the life of a drowning child, or lay down his life for his master. Some people call this loyalty. I don't. I may be wrong, but I call it love - the deepest kind of love." After these words were spoken, a thoughtful silence settled over the men. The mood was broken by the deep growling voice I had heard back in the washout. "It's a shame that people all over the world can't have that kind of love in their hearts," he said. "There would be no wars, slaughter, or murder; no greed or selfishness. It would be the kind of world that God wants us to have - a wonderful world.

In his fighting heart, there was no fear.

I'd like to take a walk far back in the flinty hills and search for a souvenir, an old double-bitted ax stuck deep in the side of a white oak tree. I know the handle has long since rotted away with time. Perhaps the rusty frame of a coal-oil lantern still hangs there on the blade.

My heart started acting like a drunk grasshopper.

I suppose there's a time in practically every young boy's life when he's affected by that wonderful disease of puppy love. I don't mean the kind a boy has for the pretty little girl that lives down the road. I mean the real kind, the kind that has four small feet and a wiggly tail, and sharp little teeth that can gnaw on a boy's finger; the kind a boy can romp and play with, even eat and sleep with.

HAD no idea what was in store for me. To begin with, everything was too perfect

Some time in the night I got up, tiptoed to my window, and looked out at my doghouse. It looked so lonely and empty sitting there in the moonlight. I could see that the door was slightly ajar. I thought of the many times I had lain in my bed and listened to the squeaking of the door as my dogs went in and out. I didn't know I was crying until I felt the tears roll down my cheeks.

On my way home I didn't walk on the ground. I was way up in the clouds just skipping along.

Gabriel

I don’t see how anything like that can keep a coon in a tree,” I said. “It’ll keep him there all right,” Grandpa

I wanted so much to step over and pick them up. Several times I tried to move my feet, but they seemed to be nailed to the floor. I knew the pups were mine, all mine, yet I couldn't move. My heart started aching like a drunk grasshopper. I tried to swallow and couldn't. My Adam's apple wouldn't work. One pup started my way. I held my breath. On he came until I felt a scratchy little foot on mine. The other pup followed. A warm puppy tongue caressed my sore foot. I heard the stationmaster say, 'They already know you.' I knelt down and gathered them in my arms. I buried my face between their wiggling bodies and cried.

Give up!” Grandpa barked. “Now I don’t want to hear you say that. No, sir, that’s the last thing I want to hear. Don’t ever start anything you can’t finish.

If a man's word isn't any good, he's no good himself.

Everything was going along just fine until Mama caught me cutting out of the circles of tin with her scissors. I always swore she could find the biggest switches of any woman in the Ozarks.

I couldn't understand these town people. If they weren't staring at a fellow, they were laughing at him.

There I was sitting right in the middle of the finest hunting country in the world and I didn’t even have a dog.

Son, that's a pretty hard question to answer. But I do believe that any wish you make can come true if you help the wish. I don't think that the Lord meant for our lives to be so simple and easy that every time we wanted something, all we had to do was wish for it and we'd get it. I don't believe that at all. If that were true, there would be a lot of lazy people in this old world. No one would be working. Everyone would be wishing for what they needed or wanted. "Papa," I asked, "how can you help a wish?" "Oh, there are a lot of ways," Papa said. "Hard work, faith, patience, and determination. I think prayer and really believing in your wish can help more than anything else.

Looking to the mountains around us, I saw that the mysterious artist who comes at night had paid us a visit. I wondered how he could paint so many different colors in one night; red, wine, yellow, and rust.

If they weren't staring at a fellow, they were laughing at him.

Yes, I know it is still there, for in my heart I believe the legend of the sacred red fern.

If a man’s word isn’t any good, he’s no good himself.

A man’s children should have an education. They should get out and see the world and meet people.

bark, she was easing her way down.

Piece by piece, each fit perfectly until the puzzle was complete. It could not have happened without the help of an unseen power.

It’s not good for a boy to want something with all his heart and then be disappointed. Things like that can hurt for a long time.

hound weren’t the only ones awake that night.

than anyone in the country.” I didn’t care how many deals Grandpa cooked up. He was still the best grandpa in the whole wide world. “What have you got?” I asked. “Come over to the store,” he said, “and I’ll show you.” On our way over, I heard him mutter, “I hope this doesn’t turn out like the ghost-coon hunt.” On

It was wonderful indeed how I could have heart-to-heart talks with my dogs and they always seemed to understand. Each question I asked was answered in their own doggish way. Although they couldn’t talk in my terms, they had a language of their own that was easy to understand. Sometimes I would see the answer in their eyes, and again it would be in the friendly wagging of their tails. Other times I could hear the answer in a low whine or feel it in the soft caress of a warm flickering tongue. In some way, they would always answer.

People have been trying to understand dogs ever since the beginning of time. One never knows what they'll do. You can read every day where a dog saved the life of a drowning child, or lay down his life for his master. Some people call this loyalty. I don't. I may be wrong, but I call it love-the deepest kind of love.

I said, “Boy,

Samie was one of those nosy kind of cats. He would lie up on the red oak limbs and watch every move I made.

women are a little different than men.

Arkansas

eardrums

coaxed,

The bigger they are the harder they fall.

didn’t know why I was holding my breath because I knew that the old saying of how you could hold your breath and nothing would sting you was pure hogwash. I had tried that before and it hadn’t worked at all. Rowdy would have absolutely nothing to do with anything that

It's hard for a man to stand and watch an old hound fight against such odds, especially if that man has memories in his heart like I had in mine. I had seen the time when an old hound like that had given his life so that I might life.

The fishermen were wonderful, as true sportsmen are. They seemed to sense the urgency in my voice and always bought my wares. However, many was the time I’d find my vegetables left in the abandoned camp.

a man’s word isn’t any good, he’s no good himself.

the blood tingling in my veins. That wonderful feeling that only a hunter knows crept over my body.

I know it is still there, hiding its secret beneath those long, red leaves, but it woukdn't be hidden from me for part of my life is buried there, too".

I looked at his grave and, with tears in my eyes, I voiced these words: "You were worth it, old friend, and a thousand times over.

I know,” said Papa. “It’s all right with me, but women are a little different than men. They worry more.

flouncing

I’ll always remember this as the summer of the monkeys.

I figured the lion had scented my pups. The more I thought about anything harming them, the madder I got. I was ready to die for my dogs.

Begrudgingly, they

Where the Red Fern Grows taps into the wellspring that runs deep in all of us as we fall in step with a boy and his dogs and, piece by piece, our own stories unfold.

I’d been living around Mama for fourteen years; and a boy can learn a lot about his mama in that length of time.

I know it is still there, hiding its secret beneath those long, red leaves, but it wouldn't be hidden from me for part of my life is buried there, too.

If there were any wild hogs around, he could scare the daylights out of them with his deep voice.

Mama,” I asked, “do you think God made a heaven for all good dogs?” “Yes,” she said, “I’m sure He did.

You think you have won, but you haven’t. Although I can’t get the coon, neither can you live, because I have cut off your breath of life.

bunched

laid his head in my hand. I almost cried at what I saw. His coat was dirty and mud-caked. His skin was

A big grinning Ozark moon crawled up out of nowhere and seemed to say, “Hi, neighbor! I’ve been looking for you. It gets kind of lonesome out here. Welcome to the land of the Cherokee!

You know, an old man like me can teach a young boy like you all the good things in life. But it takes a young boy like you to teach an old man like me to appreciate all the good things in life. I guess that’s what life’s all about.

On hearing this remark, my heart jumped clear up in my throat.. I thought surely it was going to hop right out on the depot platform. I looked up and tried to tell him who I was, but something went wrong. When the words finally came out they sounded like the squeaky old pulley on our well when Mama drew up a bucket of water.

Although the old hound had no way of knowing it, he had stirred memories, and what priceless treasures they were. Memories of my boyhood days, an old K. C. Baking Powder can, and two little red hounds. Memories of a wonderful love, unselfish devotion, and death in its saddest form.

We’re going to build a big pen out of that chicken wire,” he said. “It’ll have a top on it and a door with a snap latch. We’ll put those coconuts right in the center of the pen and leave the door open. Then we’ll tie the binder twine to the door and run it back through the pen and out into the brush a little way. When those monkeys go into the pen after those coconuts, we’ll pull the binder twine and latch the door. What do you think of that idea?” Before I answered Grandpa, I closed my eyes and drew a picture of the pen in my mind.

It’s strange indeed how memories can lie dormant in a man’s mind for so many years. Yet those memories can be awakened and brought forth fresh and new, just by something you’ve seen, or something you’ve heard, or the sight of an old familiar face.

I believe a boy can have anything in life that he wants once he starts working for it. The main thing is not to give up. It makes no difference how tough things get, just bow your back, keep working, and put you heart and soul into it. As you go along your way, live a good clean life, don't hurt anyone or anything, and always be honest. It doesn't hurt to pray a little too.

Grandpa,” I asked, “what good’s it going to do us, knowing his name?” “It might do a lot of good,” Grandpa said. “This trainer says that if you could make friends with that monkey he would probably do anything you wanted him to do.” “Make friends with him!” I said. “Grandpa, I don’t

determination and will power. That’s a good thing for a man to have. It goes a long way in his life. The American people have a lot of it. They have proved that, all down through history, but they could do with a lot more of it.

WILSON RAWLS was born on a small farm in the Oklahoma Ozarks. He spent his youth in the heart of the Cherokee nation, prowling the hills and river bottoms with his only companion, an old bluetick hound. Rawls’s first writing was done with his fingers in the dust of the country roads and in the sands along the river, and his earliest stories were told to his dog. Not until Rawls’s family moved to Muskogee and he could attend high school did he encounter books. Where the Red Fern Grows has become a modern classic and has been made into a widely acclaimed motion picture.

There are monkeys in the bottoms In those tall white sycamores. There are monkeys in the bottoms, Worth a million or more. “So come along, Old Rowdy, And let’s get on the trail Of a hundred dollar monkey. We’ll catch him by the tail.

country

God helps those who help themselves.

I’ve always figured that a man can do almost anything if he puts his mind to it and doesn’t ever give up.

wee

Faithful Little Ann, bitch though she was, had gone to the assistance of Old Dan.

women are a little different than men. They

It gives them determination and will power. That’s a good thing for a man to have. It goes a long way in his life. The American people have a lot of it. They have proved that, all down through history, but they could do with a lot more of it.

I remembered something my grandfather had told me. He said, “Never underestimate the cunning of an old river coon. When the nights are dark and the ground is frozen and slick, they can pull some mean tricks on a hound. Sometimes the tricks can be fatal.

looked over to where I had dropped my net. There it was right where I had dropped it; wide open and not a monkey in it. I couldn’t believe it. How on earth could the little monkeys have gotten out of the net? My first thought was that the yellow ring had gotten tangled in a bush, and while the monkeys were flouncing

Exhausted from the long swim, he stayed there in the birch thinking he had outsmarted my dogs. I couldn’t understand how Little Ann had found him. It was impossible to fall the tree toward the bottoms. It was too much off balance. I did the next best thing. I cut a long elder switch. Unbuckling one of my suspenders, I tied it to

I have never been back to the Ozarks. All I have left are my dreams and memories, but if God is willing, some day I’d like to go back—back to those beautiful hills. I’d like to walk again on trails I walked in my boyhood days. Once again I’d like to face a mountain breeze and smell the wonderful scent of the redbuds, and papaws, and the dogwoods. With my hands I’d like to caress the cool white bark of a sycamore. I’d like to take a walk far back in the flinty hills and search for a souvenir, an old double-bitted ax stuck deep in the side of a white oak tree. I know the handle has long since rotted away with time. Perhaps the rusty frame of a coal-oil lantern still hangs there on the blade. I’d like to see the old home place, the barn and the rail fences. I’d like to pause under the beautiful red oaks where my sisters and I played in our childhood. I’d like to walk up the hillside to the graves of my dogs. I’m sure the red fern has grown and has completely covered the two little mounds. I know it is still there, hiding its secret beneath those long, red leaves, but it wouldn’t be hidden from me for part of my life is buried there, too. Yes, I know it is still there, for in my heart I believe the legend of the sacred red fern.

I believe a boy can have anything in life that he wants once he starts working for it. The main thing is not to give up. It makes no difference how tough things get, just bow your back, keep working, and put your heart and soul into it. As you go along your way, live a good clean life, don't hurt anyone or anything, and always be honest. It doesn't hurt to pray a little, too. If you do all those things-someday you'll have your pony and gun. You'll get help when you least expect it.

As our buggy wound its way up through the bottoms, Grandpa started talking. “You know, Billy,” he said, “about this tree-chopping of yours, I think it’s all right. In fact, I think it would be a good thing if all young boys had to cut down a big tree like that once in their life. It does something for them. It gives them determination and will power. That’s a good thing for a man to have. It goes a long way in his life. The American people have a lot of it. They have proved that, all down through history, but they could do with a lot more of it.

What are all those people doing under the trees?” I asked. “Those are students,” Grandpa said. “They’re probably studying their lessons. They have their classes inside those buildings.” “That wouldn’t be a bad place to go to school,” I said. “Instead of having to stay in the schoolhouse to study, you could just go outside and sit under a tree. I think I’d like that.” “I hope I live to see the day when you go to college here,” Grandpa said. “Do you think you’d like it?

Men,” said Mr. Kyle, “people have been trying to understand dogs ever since the beginning of time. One never knows what they’ll do. You can read every day where a dog saved the life of a drowning child, or lay down his life for his master. Some people call this loyalty. I don’t. I may be wrong, but I call it love—the deepest kind of love.” After these words were spoken, a thoughtful silence settled over the men. The mood was broken by the deep growling voice I had heard back in the washout. “It’s a shame that people all over the world can’t have that kind of love in their hearts,” he said. “There would be no wars, slaughter, or murder; no greed or selfishness. It would be the kind of world that God wants us to have—a wonderful world.

Daisy smiled and said, “Jay Berry, you won’t die. You may think you will, but you won’t. In a day or two, you’ll be as good as new, I hope.” “You’re just saying that because you heard Papa say it,” I said. “No, I’m not!” Daisy said. “I’m saying it because I’m a nurse, and nurses are supposed to cheer up their patients.” I knew all too well that once Daisy had gotten into one of her Red Cross nursing spells, it was ridiculous to even think of trying to argue her out of it. So I just groaned, closed my eyes, and sat there while

I was still a boy when I left the Ozarks, only sixteen years old. Since that day, I’ve left my footprints in many lands: the frozen wastelands of the Arctic, the bush country of Old Mexico, and the steaming jungles of Yucatán. Throughout my life, I’ve been a lover of the great outdoors. I have built campfires in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, and hunted wild turkey in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee and the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. I have climbed the Grand Tetons of Wyoming, and hunted bull elk in the primitive area of Idaho. I can truthfully say that, regardless of where I have roamed or wandered, I have always looked for the fairy ring. I have never found one, but I’ll keep looking and hoping. If the day ever comes that I walk up to that snow-white circle, I’ll step into the center of it, kneel down, and make one wish, for in my heart I believe in the legend of the rare fairy ring.

Billy,” she said, “I don’t approve of this hunting, but it looks like I can’t say no; not after all you’ve been through, getting your dogs, and all that training.” “Aw, he’ll be all right,” Papa said. “Besides, he’s getting to be a good-size man now.” “Man!” Mama exclaimed. “Why, he’s still just a little boy.” “You can’t keep him a little boy always,” Papa said. “He’s got to grow up some day.” “I know,” Mama said, “but I don’t like it, not at all, and I can’t help worrying.” “Mama, please don’t worry about me,” I said. “I’ll be all right. Why, I’ve been all over these hills, you know that.” “I know,” she said, “but that was in the daytime. I never worried too much when it was daylight, but at night, that’s different. It’ll be dark and anything could happen.” “There won’t be anything happen,” I said. “I promise I’ll be careful.” Mama got up from the table saying, “Well, it’s like I said, I can’t say no and I can’t

the muddy little tracks of the ringtails, I bored a hole, dropped in a piece of tin, and drove my nails. On down the river I went, making my traps. I stopped when I ran out of nails. Altogether I had fourteen traps. That night Papa asked me how I was making out. “Oh, all right,” I said. “I’ve got fourteen of them made.” He laughed and said, “Well, you can’t ever tell. You may catch one.” The next morning I was up with the chickens. I took my pups with me as I just knew I’d have a big ringtail trapped and I wanted them to see it. I was a disappointed boy when I peeked out of a canebrake at my last trap and didn’t see a coon. All the way home I tried to figure out what I had done wrong. I went to Papa. He put his thinking cap on and thought the situation over. “Maybe you left too much scent around when you made those traps,” he said. “If you