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A review by danelleeb
The Song of the Lark by Willa Cather
5.0
This is my 2nd all time favorite Cather book.
I can't think of a better book that describes the wrestle and pull of roots.
If youth did not matter so much to itself, it would never have the heart to go on. (p.103)
He knew that the splendid things of life are few, after all, and so very easy to miss. (p. 103)
He and all that he recalled, lived for her as memories. In sleep, and in hours of illness or exhaustion, she went back to them and held them to her heart. But they were better as memories. They had nothing to do with the struggle that made up her actual life. She felt drearily that she was not flexible enough to be the person her old friend expected her to be, the person she herself wished to be with him. (p.272)
It came over him now that the unexpected favors of fortune, no matter how dazzling, do not mean very much to us. They may excite or divert us for a time, but when we look back, the only things we cherish are those which in some way met our original want; the desire which formed in us in early youth, undirected, and of its own accord. (p. 256)
I can't think of a better book that describes the wrestle and pull of roots.
If youth did not matter so much to itself, it would never have the heart to go on. (p.103)
He knew that the splendid things of life are few, after all, and so very easy to miss. (p. 103)
He and all that he recalled, lived for her as memories. In sleep, and in hours of illness or exhaustion, she went back to them and held them to her heart. But they were better as memories. They had nothing to do with the struggle that made up her actual life. She felt drearily that she was not flexible enough to be the person her old friend expected her to be, the person she herself wished to be with him. (p.272)
It came over him now that the unexpected favors of fortune, no matter how dazzling, do not mean very much to us. They may excite or divert us for a time, but when we look back, the only things we cherish are those which in some way met our original want; the desire which formed in us in early youth, undirected, and of its own accord. (p. 256)