Quotes About Village

Under a spreading chestnut-tree The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands.

Celebrate the birth of a girl child by planting 5 trees in your village.

In every village marked with little spire, Embowered in trees, and hardly known to fame.

With a little gasp he sees himself as merely a leaf blown by the wind through the streets of his village. He knows that in spite of all the stout talk of his fellows he must live and die in uncertainty, a thing blown by winds, a thing destined like corn to wilt in the sun.

I remember that I stood on the library steps holding my books and looking for a minute at the soft hinted green in the branches against the sky and wishing, as I always did, that I could walk home across the sky instead of through the village.

The first century of the plague had seen the country turned upside down. In the twilight years of Edward III it seemed that nothing could damage the greatness of the Plantagenet royal estate. But the world of the village went from impoverished claustrophobia to traumatized infection. A hundred years later, everything had been upended, courtesy of King Death.

When Bach died some of his children sold his scores to the butcher they had decided the paper was more useful for wrapping meat. In a small village in Germany a father brought home a limp goose wrapped in paper that was covered with strange and beautiful symbols.

In Vineyard Haven, on Martha's Vineyard, mostly I love the soft collision here of harbor and shore, the subtly haunting briny quality that all small towns have when they are situated on the sea

Need. That's what makes a village. That's what we are now, and what holds us together is need. I won't help you if you don't help me. That is the social contract." I couldn't really process what she was saying.

Need. That's what makes a village. That's what we are now, and what holds us together is need. I won't help you if you don't help me. That is the social contract.

Augustus did the economy of Bethlehem a favor when he decreed that a census should be taken. Who could remember when such commerce had hit the village? No, it is doubtful that anyone mentioned the couple's arrival or wondered about the condition of the girl. They were too busy. The day was upon them. The day's bread had to be made. The morning's chores had to be done. There was too much to do to imagine that the impossible had occurred. God had entered the world as a baby.

Adultery, perhaps only a mistake during good times, became a crime when the village needed food.

Self-reliance? Yes, but that first spring I had to learn dependency too. By crying for help and seeing help come from several directions, I began to learn what the village is all about: on the one hand, respect for privacy, and on the other, awareness of each other's needs. So, however solitary some of us may look to an outsider, we are in truth part of an invisible web and supported by its presence.

These "doyennes of society" were no different at bottom than the leading dames among the gossips of her own village. Within that little "society," their word was law, and the law was respectability.

Desperately, he looked out over the fjord. Far below, on the other side of the frozen strait, his village huddled in the snow. Firnstayn: four longhouses and a handful of huts, all ringed by a laughably weak palisade. The wooden wall, built from the trunks of fir trees, was meant to keep wolves at bay and to be an obstacle to plunderers. The palisade would never stop the manboar.

But the horn had been destroyed. From his position, they would have heard its blast all the way down to the village. How cruel, this game the gods were playing with him and his family. Were they watching him now? Were they laughing at him?

A strange lightness enveloped her as she drove to her apartment, past the shady village green, the trendy shops and cafés and galleries and tasting rooms. Her favorite spot in town was the White Rabbit Bookstore with a sign over the door----FEED YOUR HEAD.

The governess was not much liked in the village. She was too tall, too fond of books, too grave, and, a curious thing, never smiled unless there was something to smile at.

The nearest inhabited village is about seven of your English miles to the left.

Bill Maddox reported well of him to the village— "no airs at all and can't be fooled neither; upped with the bonnet and went over her as if he was bred to the trade"—so that by the time he appeared in the Swan with Walter of an evening Salcott St. Mary knew all about him and were prepared to accept him in spite of his reprehensible good looks.

No, forget it. You people took the village and drove away all our business, it's you who must submit to Shariah.

There you'll find the place I love most in the world. The place where I grew thin from dreaming. My village, rising from the plain. Shaded with trees and leaves like a piggy bank filled with memories. You'll see why a person would want to live there forever. Dawn, morning, mid-day, night: all the same, except for the changes in the air. The air changes the color of things there. And life whirs by as quiet as a murmur...the pure murmuring of life.

The peasant is the only species of human being who doesn't like the country and never looks at it.

And then, well . . . He might have slept for a bit. He rather hoped he was sleeping, because he was quite certain he'd seen a six-foot rabbit hopping through his bedchamber, and if that wasn't a dream, they were all in very big trouble. Although really, it wasn't the rabbit that was so dangerous as much as the giant carrot he was swinging about like a mace. That carrot would feed an entire village.