Quotes About Village

Around the village, tree-lined ridges rose up against the deeper dark beyond and, along that wavering verge, stars moved imperceptibly in the treetops, encircling man and animal alike. Altogether, those cross-hatched branches wove a spangled basket against the sky and somewhere inside it was the tiger, hunting.

Jesús recibió su educación en el hogar. Su madre fue su primer maestro humano. De los labios de ella, y de los escritos de los profetas, aprendió las verdades del cielo. Vivió en un hogar de aldeanos y con fidelidad y buen ánimo llevó su parte de las cargas de la casa.

Today Alessandro had his first meeting with a Frenchman from the "conversation exchange" website. His name is Florent, and he wants to learn Italian because he bought a plot of land in a tiny village near Lucca, in Tuscany, and he plans to build a house there. But mostly because he is in love with a waitress he met in the village.

The emotional health of a village depended upon having a man whom everyone loved to hate, and Heaven had blessed us with two of them.

It was a dream of perfect bliss Too beautiful to last; I seemed to welcome back again The bright days of the past. I was a boy--my mimic ship Sail'd down the village stream, And I was gay and innocent-- But, ah! it was a dream.

began to talk about the parish.

One or two of the villagers have seen it, too, though not as clearly as he did. Old Buttermere said it was a white thing, that glided over the ground, and vanished into the shrubbery.' 'And a very good place for it to vanish, too,' said Hugo, wholly unimpressed. 'Give me a sheet, and a night without too much moonlight, and I'll engage to do the same!

A village explainer. Excellent if you were a village, but if you were not, not. (on Ezra Pound)

into TROUBLE AT THE LITTLE VILLAGE SCHOOL

I had a series of jobs in the small fishing village in West Wales where my family lived when I was a teenager. I worked as a fisherman in the day, and then the skipper and his wife ran a small restaurant - she'd cook the fish he caught.

South Africa has all the tools to compete in the new global village - an eager workforce, ready to take on any challenge.

The workplace can be a good place to find opportunities to socialise, but what if you don't meet any like-minded people there, or what if you work alone? Is it, somewhat counter-intuitively, easier to find yourself lonely in a city than in a small town or village?

I love those connections that make this big old world feel like a little village.

When one really knows a village like this and its surroundings, it is like becoming acquainted with a single person. The process of falling in love at first sight is as final as it is swift in such a case, but the growth of true friendship may be a lifelong affair.

Saturday morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and fresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if the heart was young, the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in every face and a spring in every step. The locust-trees were in bloom, and the fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond the village and above, it was green with vegetation, and it lay just far enough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.

the king he allowed he would drop over to t'other village without any plan, but just trust in Providence to lead him the profitable way - meaning the devil, I reckon.

A new-comer of any age or either sex was an impressive curiosity in the poor little shabby village of St. Petersburg.

Shortly Tom came upon the juvenile pariah of the village, Huckleberry Finn, son of the town drunkard. Huckleberry was cordially hated and dreaded by all the mothers of the town, because he was idle and lawless and vulgar and bad—and because all their children admired him so, and delighted in his forbidden society, and wished they dared to be like him.

This nightmare occupied some ten pages of manuscript and wound up with a sermon so destructive of all hope to non-Presbyterians that it took the first prize. This composition was considered to be the very finest effort of the evening. The mayor of the village, in delivering the prize to the author of it, made a warm speech in which he said that it was by far the most eloquent thing he had ever listened to, and that Daniel Webster himself might well be proud of it.

It was Don Paolo's birthday and all the people of the village were gathered in the piazza to celebrate him. The band played, the wine flowed, the children danced, and, as he stood for a moment alone under the pergola, a little girl approached the the beloved priest. But Don Paolo, are you not happy? she asked him. Of course I am happy, he assured the little girl. Why, then, aren't you crying?

his mustache was carefully groomed, unlike the hair on the faces of the men in our village, which grew untended like weeds along a path.

Death was everywhere. Death was everything. Career. Desire. Dream. Poetry. Love. Youth itself. Dying became just another way of living. Graveyards sprang up in parks and meadows, by streams and rivers, in fields and forest glades. Tombstones grew out of the ground like young children's teeth. Every village, every locality, had its own graveyard.

When Witches assaulted their first victims in Salem village, it was 1691 in North America, 1692 in Europe.

They were returning to Mourmelon, but not to the barracks. This time they were billeted in large green twelve-man wall tents, about a mile outside what Webster called "the pathetically shabby garrison village of Mourmelon, abused by soldiers since Caesar's day, consisting of six bars, two whorehouses, and a small Red Cross club." In Webster's scathing judgment, "Mourmelon was worse than Fayetteville, North Carolina.