There is Charlie. He is seventeen and growing restless. He is ready to find his way in life. There is Grandpa. Charlie has lived with his grandfather since age three. Grandpa is his best friend, father figure, and spiritual mentor. The story has Charlie and Grandpa heading north on a trail drive. Charlie is planning on going to Fort Collins. We learn of the adventures they have along the way. It is a story that includes trusting God, loving your family, and facing the challenges life throws your way. The book is wonderful. It should be in every community library. Thank you Donna Westover Gallup for such a wholesome and inspirational book.
Book three is "In Green Pastures. It stands alone very well. Shelves: christian-fiction , kindle. Charlie was raised by his grandpa beginning at 3-years of age. He only knows life as living on the farm and being based from the word of God. Reality strikes as he goes on him first cattle drive to through Colorado without his beloved grand-father.
During this time he comes in contact with the real world and discovers that there is real evil out there. Can Charlie make it on his own when he comes face to face with those who wish to kill him? Is he willing to turn all things over to God even his Charlie was raised by his grandpa beginning at 3-years of age. Is he willing to turn all things over to God even his relationship with his grand-father?
Will his love and faith see him through? Read this story of adventure, action and danger. This story starts off sweet but then when action starts it will keep you on the edge of your seat. Jan 31, Skeeter Jorgensen rated it it was amazing. I loved this book. About Charlie and his grandpa and their Faith in God. Set in Colorado, near the Rocky Mountains, involves cattle drives, love interests and even Angels. It was a very good Faith-based book.
I will probably read it again. I have not read the first book, but will look for it now, so I can read it too. Jan 15, R. Phelps rated it it was amazing Shelves: owned. Donna again sprinkles Christian beliefs throughout her story of Colorado in the 's. Charlie has grown up to be a fine young Christian that must make decisions regarding his beliefs and the sharing of them.
The story is a stand alone history of a young man reaching out to capture life in an area of Colorado in its infancy. The authors description of the territory is very factual and having lived in Colorado in was fun trying to place the areas intertwined throughout the story. It is a story y Donna again sprinkles Christian beliefs throughout her story of Colorado in the 's. It is a story you will want to have time to read in large sections as you won't want to put it down.
There is sadness, joy, faith, and reward throughout the story and you will not want to miss any of it. This was a very good follow-up book, or companion to the authors first book in this series, White as Snow. I recommend it highly and thank the author for taking me on this joyous trip. A good read for all ages. Jan 31, LadyCalico rated it it was amazing. I was glad to pick up with my dear little Charlie's adventures as a young man. However, I didn't enjoy this book quite as much as White as Snow. The supernatural elements got to be too left field and proved to be a bit much.
I just got a headache trying to figure out what that stuff was all about, and it didn't strike me as being all that scriptur I was glad to pick up with my dear little Charlie's adventures as a young man. I just got a headache trying to figure out what that stuff was all about, and it didn't strike me as being all that scriptural.
It was a glaring weak spot in an otherwise great story. Oh, well, loved the book anyway even if Micah gave me a headache.
Randy Smith rated it really liked it Feb 09, Frances rated it liked it Jun 08, Melodie Kammerzell rated it it was amazing Oct 10, Lora rated it it was amazing Dec 05, Janae rated it it was amazing Jan 01, Veta Smith rated it really liked it Sep 18, Gina Jacobsma rated it liked it Jun 15, Lisa C. In your rocking-chair, by your window dreaming, shall you long, alone. In your rocking-chair, by your window, shall you dream such happiness as you may never feel. The small company, minus Russell, entered the yellow, unprepossessing door and disappeared.
And say farewell, farewell to Alexandria leaving. We had the castle within us. We carried it away. I leave this manuscript, I do not know for whom, I no longer know what it is about: stat rosa prinstina nomine, nomine nuda tenemus. But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.
Who knows but that, on the lower frequencies, I speak for you? Through the warm fog of his last breath, he watched the memories of a hundred ghosts drift skyward to finally and vainly burst. He waited for someone to tell him who to be next. And when again the vision comes, I find that, ready to do battle, I am running: obsessively running. Raymond Federman and Patricia Privat-Standley. A story.
Just a story. And such is their condescension, their indulgence, and their beneficence to those below them, that there is not a neighbor, a tenant, or a servant, who doth not most gratefully bless the day when Mr. Jones was married to his Sophia. So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby He has just received the cross of the Legion of Honour. Margaret Mauldon. The bitch is dead now. And in truth, of course, this may be the last time that you will ever feel this way again. But I thought that perhaps that would not be quite English good form, so I trotted off with the telegram to.
She was quite pleased with it.
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The song died away; they heard the river, bearing down the snows of winter into the Mediterranean. Forster, A Room with a View Forster, A Passage to India They disappear among the poplars. The meadow is empty. The river, the meadow, the cliff and cloud. The princess calls, but there is no one, now, to hear her. What exists, though, is the memory of events known and imagined, and the use of words to continue the memory through centuries, despite or with the Gravity Star, to a future when today, our Now, will be known as our past has been known as Ancient Springtime, while we, who treasure the Memory Flower, are the housekeepers of Ancient Springtime.
What matters is that I have what I gave; nothing is completely taken; we meet in the common meeting place in the calm of stone, the frozen murmurs of life, squamata, sauria, serpentes ; in the sanctuary. She was seventy-five and she was going to make some changes in her life. I am looking now into a mirror, watching Father die. Behind me my son and daughter stand, also watching Father die.
She came over, and it occurred to him that he would like to try something a little theatrical, just kneel there quietly with his arms protectively draped around his wife and child. Friedman, Stern No one remembers the whole story. Margaret Sayers Peden. Alfred MacAdam and Carlos Fuentes. He was the only person caught in the collapse, and afterward, most of his work was recovered too, and it is still spoken of, when it is noted, with high regard, though seldom played.
Gaddis, The Recognitions So I mean listen I got this neat idea hey, you listening? You listening …? He came lightly down the metal steps into balmy air and diesel fumes, and feeling in himself the potent allegiance of fate, he pushed open the door to the lobby, where unkempt sleepers slumped upright on the benches. You have fallen into art—return to life —William H. Meanwhile carry on without complaining. No arm with armband raised on high. No more booming bands, no searchlit skies. Or shall I, like the rivers, rise? Is rising wise? He took possession of this earth, theirs; one of them.
Over in England they were married and lived happily ever after. On the whole he was well satisfied with his day. He fell asleep almost at once in the yellow woolen nightshirt. She walked rapidly in the thin June sunlight towards the worst horror of all. Everything had gone right with me since he had died, but how I wished there existed someone to whom I could say that I was sorry. His body jolted backward, jolted the floorboards, and Ella Mae Waterson screamed, but Robert Ford only looked at the ceiling, the light going out of his eyes before he could say the right words.
Ford Always alone, apart, somehow solitary, Tristan is buried up in Alberta. The sun in the evening. The moon at dawn. The still voice. I—I myself—I was in love—with—Priscilla! Within the cabin, nothing could be heard. The knife came down, missing him by inches, and he took off. After a while I went out and left the hospital and walked back to the hotel in the rain.
He could feel his heart beating against the pine needle floor of the forest. The old man was dreaming about the lions. And the question haunts me—will I, can I, after my knowledge of these things, still hear the sounds of song? Hinton, Rumble Fish She turned on a lamp, checked her appointment book, sorted the magazines in the waiting room, refilled the Kleenex supply, plumped the pillows on her sofa, and then sat down in her chair, ready.
Homes, In a Country of Mothers Looking at that gentle, happy throng of clean innocent faces and soft graceful limbs, listening to the ceaseless, artless babble of chatter rising, perhaps God could have picked out from among them which was Emily; but I am sure that I could not. So much of life in its meshes! She called in her soul to come and see.
Slowly, very slowly, like two unhurried compass needles, the feet turned towards the right; north, north-east, east, south-east, south, south-south-west; then paused, and, after a few seconds, turned as unhurriedly back towards the left. South-south-west, south, south-east, east ….
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But in the world according to Garp, we are all terminal cases. Newman instinctively turned to see if the little paper was in fact consumed; but there was nothing left of it. We were alone with the quiet day, and his little heart, dispossessed, had stopped. He saw the Jungle of his life and saw the lurking Beast; then, while he looked, perceived it, as by a stir of the air, rise, huge and hideous, for the leap that was to settle him. His eyes darkened—it was close; and, instinctively turning, in his hallucination, to avoid it, he flung himself, face down, on the tomb.
She walked him away with her, however, as if she had given him now the key to patience. Isadora drifted toward rest, nestled snugly beside me, where she would remain all night while we, forgetful of ourselves, gently crossed the Flood, and countless seas of suffering. But that was just a story, something that people will tell themselves, something to pass the time it takes for the violence inside a man to wear him away, or to be consumed itself, depending on who is the candle and who is the light.
My love for my children makes me glad that I am what I am and keeps me from desiring to be otherwise; and yet, when I sometimes open a little box in which I still keep my fast yellowing manuscripts, the only tangible remnants of a vanished dream, a dead ambition, a sacrificed talent, I cannot repress the thought that, after all, I have chosen the lesser part, that I have sold my birthright for a mess of pottage. One day one of their number would write a book about all this, but none of them would believe it, because none of them would remember it that way.
His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead. Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead. Willa and Edwin Muir. I am the author of Peter Prince. Above the farm, a moon bright as butter silvers the night as Annie holds the door open for me. Kinsella, Shoeless Joe A photograph of his scrotum, the size of the biggest collective farm pumpkin, is also reprinted in foreign medical books, wherever elephantiasis elephantiasis nostras is mentioned, and as a moral for writers that to write one must have more than big balls.
Diska Mikic-Mitchell. All of them, except Phineas, constructed at infinite cost to themselves these Maginot Lines against this enemy they thought they saw across the frontier, this enemy who never attacked that way—if he ever attacked at all; if he was indeed the enemy. I spoke loudly and incessantly like the peasants and then like the city folk, as fast as I could, enraptured by the sounds that were heavy with meaning, as wet snow is heavy with water, confirming to myself again and again and again that speech was now mine and that it did not intend to escape through the door which opened onto the balcony.
Going along the sidewalk, dragging my tail. The others listened with interest, their naked genitals staring dully, sadly, listlessly at the yellow sand. Michael Henry Heim. Lawrence, The Rainbow John Thomas says good-night to lady Jane, a little droopingly, but with a hopeful heart. Why should you! Lawrence, Women in Love He walked towards the faintly humming, glowing town, quickly. Lawrence, Sons and Lovers But not everything fails.
Standing on the backstairs of the Museum, looking up and down the river, you can believe, like the ancient Greek, that everything flows. He would be there all night, and he would be there when Jem waked up in the morning. And behold the Geomancer, whose name measures the Valley, who shaped the hills and helped me sink half California, who went on the Salt Journey, caught the Train, and walked every step with Grey Bull—Heya Heggaia, han es im! Amoud gewakwasur, yeshou gewakwasur. Le Guin, Always Coming Home Side by side, not truly quiet but quiescent, two gnarls of human scribble, human cipher, human dream.
He fell back into the net, which rocked imperceptibly above them, and he sang quietly to himself, as if that helped him negotiate his exhaustion. He was, indeed, so confidently happy that he completely forgot Fran and he did not again yearn over her, for almost two days. We shall yet make these United States a moral nation!
Adria Frizzi. Capote When the long winter nights come on and the wolves follow their meat into the lower valleys, he may be seen running at the head of the pack through the pale moonlight or glimmering borealis, leaping gigantic above his fellows, his great throat a-bellow as he sings a song of the younger world, which is the song of the pack. Somebody threw a dead dog after him down the ravine. So the blind will lead the blind, and the deaf shout warnings to one another until their voices are lost.
Then for a moment in that cold Irish soul of mine, a glimmer of the joy of the flesh came toward me, rare as the eye of the rarest tear of compassion, and we laughed together after all, because to have heard that sex was time and time the connection of new circuits was a part of the poor odd dialogues which give hope to us noble humans for more than one night. Roger Foster waited in the shadow of a long-boughed two-trunked silver maple as Dubin ran up the moonlit road, holding his half-stiffened phallus in his hand, for his wife with love.
Before reaching the final line, however, he had already understood that he would never leave that room, for it was foreseen that the city of mirrors or mirages would be wiped out by the wind and exiled from the memory of men at the precise moment when Aureliano Babilonia would finish deciphering the parchments, and that everything written on them was unrepeatable since time immemorial and forever more, because races condemned to one hundred years of solitude did not have a second opportunity on earth.
Rock of Refuge: A Frontier Novel (Mysterious Ways) by Donna Westover Gallup
The old man who will not laugh is a fool. Als ick kan. Very few castaways can claim to have survived so long at sea as Mr. Patel, and none in the company of an adult Bengal tiger. I put my left hand on his left hand and waved my other hand in front of him and realized that both his eyes were darkened now with his wonderful and perfect sight.
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He is sitting there cross-legged in front of the wall, and slowly his face bursts into a smile like flames. Cabs and omnibuses hurried to and fro, and crowds passed, hastening in every direction, and the sun was shining. He told me what he was going to do when he won his money then I said it was time to go tracking in the mountains, so off we went, counting our footprints in the snow, him with his bony arse clicking and me with the tears streaming down my face. He never sleeps, the judge. He is dancing, dancing. He says that he will never die.
Passed and paled into the darkening land, the world to come. In the deep glens where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery. Everyone was looking up at me and Sub, and I was not sure what I had seen but I knew what we had done. He fits himself around her, her silk pyjamas, her scent, her warmth, her beloved form, and draws closer to her. Blindly, he kisses her nape. You will have to learn everything all over again.
And thus, pursuers and pursued flew on, over an endless sea. It was the devious-cruising Rachel, that in her retracing search after her missing children, only found another orphan. The body was burned to ashes; but for many days, the head, that hive of subtlety, fixed on a pole in the Plaza, met, unabashed, the gaze of the whites; and across the Plaza looked toward St. Something further may follow of this Masquerade. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest, a little boy and his Bear will always be playing. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner After all, tomorrow is another day.
It was a fine cry—loud and long—but it had no bottom and it had no top, just circles and circles of sorrow. For now she knew what Shalimar knew: If you surrendered to the air, you could ride it. By and by all trace is gone, and what is forgotten is not only the footprints but the water too and what is down there. The rest is weather.
The Painter's Daughter
Not the breath of the disremembered and unaccounted for, but wind in the eaves or spring ice thawing too quickly. Just weather.
Certainly no clamor for a kiss. Now they will rest before shouldering the endless work they were created to do down here in Paradise. From the roof there fluttered eggs and roses. The hands shadow themselves against the wall, large, touch in huge shadows on the wall, merge, move as one huge hand toward death.
I am out the door and in the potholed and rutted driveway, scrambling ahead of Taylor, greedy with wants and reckless from hope. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. But it was not until much later that I was able to get any real sleep. In a place far away from anyone or anywhere, I drifted off for a moment. Jay Rubin. Gripping the receiver, I raised my head and turned to see what lay beyond the telephone booth.
Where was I now? I had no idea. No idea at all. Where was this place? All that flashed into my eyes were the countless shapes of people walking by to nowhere. Again and again, I called out for Midori from the dead center of this place that was no place. You are part of a brand-new world. Philip Gabriel. I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art.
And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita. But whatever happens, wherever the scene is laid, somebody, somewhere, will quietly set out—somebody has already set out, somebody still rather far away is buying a ticket, is boarding a bus, a ship, a plane, has landed, is walking toward a million photographers, and presently he will ring at my door—a bigger, more respectable, more competent Gradus.
The men began singing, a grave slow song that drifted away into the night. Soon the road was empty. All that remained of the German regiment was a little cloud of dust. Sandra Smith. McTeague remained stupidly looking around him, now at the distant horizon, now at the ground, now at the half-dead canary chittering feebly in its little gilt prison. Could the truth be so simple? So terrible? The Reddingtons always went to a hotel where the women guests were not permitted to smoke.
How they say the camera catches you, but how in point of fact you will always be able to get away. Milo Magnani glows with quiet pride, gives their thoughts back to these people, and, straightening his bowtie unnecessarily, rises to depart. Around him, throats clear, feet scrape, candy wrappers crinkle. The world grows brighter and brighter and brighter. Milo inhales and exhales. He waits. The film begins. Time longer than rope. But apart from seeing Jokey again, my life remained an uninflected one of stalking around unbothered, until finally one day a thought succeeded in forming itself: that what had been a lifelong irritant—that I walked around the world unseen, as if invisible—had now become a strange and beautiful blessing, freeing me to live my life all over again, as if the previous one had only been a rough draft, a vague outline to be crossed over, exceeded, to be transcended, as if that life was the earthly life and this one, the California one, with myself benumbed and calm and floating inside the bubble of mall after white mall—places that were like hospitals with their piped-in music and blanching light—as if this life, finally, was the heavenly one.
The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which. Have I betrayed them all again by telling the story? Or is it the other way around: would I have betrayed them if I had not told it? Nicholas de Lange. And then, in the blue light of Stockholm among zebra fumes, he grieved.
Erdag M. For it is the dawn that has come, as it has come for a thousand centuries, never failing. But when that dawn will come, of our emancipation, from the fear of bondage and bondage of fear, why, that is a secret. I watch her walk toward St Charles, cape jasmine held against her cheek, until my brothers and sisters call out behind me.
Tell me how free I am. Famous next-to-last-words. Then they both looked up to the lifting sky—Lois followed their eyes—and found they were right. It was morning clear, cloudless, the oldest gift , would be morning oh six hours yet. The room, though, is still. No one has breathed.
And it may be that love sometimes occurs without pain or misery. Annie Proulx, The Shipping News Annie Proulx, Brokeback Mountain If, at least, there were granted me time enough to complete my work, I would not fail to stamp it with the seal of that Time the understanding of which was this day so forcibly impressing itself upon me, and I would therein describe men—even should that give the semblance of monstrous creatures—as occupying in Time a place far more considerable than the so restricted one allotted them in space, a place, on the contrary, extending boundlessly since, giant-like, reaching far back into the years, they touch simultaneously epochs of their lives—with countless intervening days between—so widely separated from one another in Time.
Frederick A. They were only a thin slice, held between the contiguous impressions that composed our life at that time; the memory of a particular image is but regret for a particular moment; and houses, roads, avenues are as fugitive, alas, as the years. Scott Moncrieff and Terence Kilmartin. Oedipa settled back, to await the crying of lot Why cant dogs go to Heaven? Thomas Jefferson was out of a job but that was O. Your most faithful and obedient servant, F.
De la Tour. No one watching this woman smear her initials in the steam on her water glass with her first finger, or slip cellophane packets of oyster crackers into her handbag for the sea gulls, could know how her thoughts are thronged by our absence, or know how she does not watch, does not listen, does not wait, does not hope, and always for me and Sylvie.
This me who is me being me and none other! It was now an African Methodist Episcopal Church. To escape into what, Marietta? It may be as you say that this is no life, but use your enchanting, enrapturing brains: this life is as close to life as you, and I, and our child can hope to come. He could not fucking die. How could he leave? How could he go? Everything he hated was here. If you do, you start missing everybody. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye Middle Ages! Castration, hypocrisy! Sebald, The Rings of Saturn ; trans. Michael Hulse. He was soon borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance.
Now let me say something. This is the gleaming obsidian shard I safeguard above all the others. Ecstatic, he feels the world on the edge of obliteration. He wants, even more than he wants to be alive again, to be dead with them, but he is dead with himself alone.