Quotes from D.E. Stevenson

The relationship between a brother and sister is peculiar in the sense that it is unique for it is the only one in which the two sexes can meet as equals on a purely personal basis. No brother thinks of his sister as a woman and few sisters can see their brothers as men. For this reason there can be real friendship between them.

Brownlow had dreaded coming back to Kintoul, but he found that there was nothing to fear. He was scarcely even sad; there was no awakening of that misery which had driven him hither and thither like a leaf in the autumn wind for so many weary years.

I felt weak and silly, and the happiness of the children, as they ran about and shouted at each other, touched a spring in my heart. They were so gay and pretty in the sunshine, like a flock of bright birds flitting to and fro. I had missed all that in my life—all the joys of normal womanhood—I was a very lonely woman, on the way to a lonely old age.

It suddenly struck him that life was very unfair. You had to decide your whole life before you had any experience to guide you. Youth makes the bed, and middle age has, perforce, to lie upon it. The experience of others, however wise, is of no use to youth. Each soul must adventure of itself blindly into the dark. Perhaps, however, it is as well that youth does not know or reck of the dangers and sorrows with which the path of life is beset.

Do thy diligence to come before winter," repeated Father. " Paul was old and weary and he felt the approach of winter as old people still do. He felt the approach of death. He did not dread his passing for he knew that he would obtain the salvation which is in Christ Jesus with eternal glory, but he longed to see the beloved face of Timothy before he died.

Why are you so secretive, Penney dear?' asked Barbie. 'Not secretive,' exclaimed Penney. 'It's just that people don't really want to know. My life hasn't been at all interesting, so why should I bore people by telling them about it?

It is difficult to exaggerate the power that such a woman can obtain over such a man. Peter was by no means a weak character, but he was too gentle, too knightly, too chivalrous, to have the slightest chance against her wiles.

wrote to Kitty saying that I was sorry for what had occurred and asking her to come to see me if she was in town, but I had no reply. Kitty vanished out of my life. She was angry with me, I knew. She had wanted me to lie, and I would not lie—I could not.

Erica says she has told everybody to come; she doesn't think they'll dare not to. I feel sure she is right for her guests stand in such awe of her that they accede to her requests meekly. They are frightened of her—and no wonder; they don't know how to take her; they are never sure whether her rudeness is meant to be amusing or not.

Life was like a piece of tapestry . . . or perhaps one should say a piece of tapestry was like life . . . for there was the background, which was rather dull, and the coloured bits, which were fun. And it was not until you had got to the end and the whole thing was complete that you could see the pattern properly.

As she went about her tasks — writing letters, answering telephone calls and putting the house in order — Nell reflected that the war had killed her father just as surely as if he had been shot through the heart by a German bullet. It seemed odd that he, who had stayed at home in peaceful Amberwell, should be the first casualty in the Ayrton family.

Charming!" cries Mrs. Maloney. "How delightful!" exclaims Miss Dove. "I do adore Jane!" Mrs. Ovens declares. Several other ladies admit to a like partiality for Miss Austen and urge Miss Clutterbuck to begin.

But the next time they met the friendship had always cooled off, and Mrs. Dance had to start all over again. What Mrs. Dance did not realize was that the person in question had been willing enough to listen to the anecdotes and tidbits, but had afterward reflected, consciously or unconsciously, I wonder what Mrs. Dance says to other people about me.

An American travelling acquaintance once said to Peter: "I guess you like to look on at life from a third-floor window." It was such a startling insight into his character that Peter was quite alarmed.

Loneliness is inside a person . . . It is possible to be lonely in a big city. If a person is contented and has enough work to do he will not feel lonely amongst the hills.

in those days nobody talked about being happy, like they do now – nobody minded whether children were happy, the really important thing was that they should be good. But I really think that people were just as happy as they are now, only they never thought about whether they were or not.

The hills had looked friendly in the sunshine, but in this wild weather their aspect had changed. They were not so much unfriendly as indifferent – old, grim and enigmatical. They made one feel that human life was a precarious thing. They made one feel helpless and ephemeral as a butterfly. It was a horrible feeling

When we're young we make our beds and when we're older we have to lie on them. I'd make myself a comfortable bed if I were you—straight and tidy with the blankets well tucked in at the foot—then it'll not come adrift when you lie in it. If a bed's not properly made at the start the blankets'll maybe fall off in the night and you'll wake up shivering

They understood one another perfectly. They trusted one another. They were useful to one another. That was the ideal relationship of one human being to another human being . . . usefulness . . . to take and give service.

Hospitals are wonderful,' said Penney. 'They give you everything they can think of; they give you oxygen and blood transfusions and all the drugs in the chemist's shop, but they never seem to think of giving you enough sleep. I've often wondered why.' Amalie was interested. 'Wouldn't it be difficult?' she asked. 'I mean there's so much coming and going, isn't there?

Jerry hesitated. She said, "But Rudge, you ought to go—if they want you, I mean." "Not me," replied Rudge, taking another mouthful of sausage. "Why should I go? It ain't my war. I never wanted war with the Germans." "Nobody wanted war!" cried Jerry. "Why did they 'ave it then? They won't get me for cannon fodder," said Rudge with a grin.

If we don't have troubles sent us we can generally make them for ourselves,' I reply. 'It's easy to make yourself miserable over trifles; I've done that sometimes, and then, quite suddenly, you get sent something to be sorry about, and you think looking back how happy I was yesterday, and I never knew it.

Oh yes," agreed Tom. "But he saw you arrive. He saw you walk into the hotel with a knapsack on your back so he didn't know you were an important person until I told him. If you had arrived in a big automobile with a great deal of luggage he would have been nice to you from the beginning." This was not what Will meant, but he had to leave it.

Peter's sensitiveness of perception was acute. He knew exactly what the independent old farmer-ferryman was thinking; he understood and in a measure sympathised with his feelings. Peter was like that — he could always see the other fellow's point of view. His mother had been immensely large-hearted and tolerant, and she had brought up her son to loathe intolerance as one of the deadly sins.