People die and people are born. They quarrel and make it up. They prosper and flourish, and sometimes fall by the wayside, but life goes on.
In this quite little inarticulate english village, nothing ever happens. You will find the same kind of people anywhere. They are very ordinary – but are not the most ordinary of us extraordinary and wonderful enough?
His love was the slow unreasoning impulsive force which by its very strenght has so often dominated women from the beginning.
When something ugly comes into the lives of the well-to-do, they can swathe themselves; but the poor must live naked with their sins and sorrows always.
But Winter's broken, and earth has woken,
And the small birds cry again.
And the hawthorn hedge puts forth its buds,
And the heart puts forth its pain.
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