Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost Has wrought a silence.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
Love at the lips was touch as sweet as I could bear.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
Sin and love and fear are just sounds that people who never sinned nor loved nor feared have for what they never had and cannot have until they forget the words.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
Life is made up of moments, small pieces of glittering mica in a long stretch of gray cement.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
So comes snow after fire.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
Death walks faster than the wind and never returns what he has taken.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
Snowmen fall from heaven unassembled.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
Out of the dark we came, into the dark we go.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
Faith is the art of holding on to things your reason has once accepted, in spite of your changing moods.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
Let us go then, you and I.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
When the bold braches bid farewell to rainbow leaves, welcome wool sweaters.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
Cold hands, warm heart.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
Wonder upon wonder.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
The wind is chill, but let it whistle as it will.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
It snowed and snowed, the whole world over.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
O no, she said, you can't say just anything to the wind. Only the deepest secrets will do.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
I've always liked the time before dawn because there's no one around to remind me who I'm supposed to be, so it's easier to remember who I am.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
Dust of snow.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
For a long time, she flew only when she thought no one else was watching.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
What have we to do but stand with empty hands and palms turned upwards.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
You believe like a child in this fire runnin' wild.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
The sky is falling.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
A child's spirit is like a child, you can never catch it by running after it; you must stand still, and, for love, it will soon itself come back.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
Run mad as often as you choose, but do not faint.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
The sound of white.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
When so many are lonely as seem to be lonely, it would be inexcusably selfish to be lonely alone.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
It keeps eternal whisperings around ...
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
Dreams are well but waking's better.
Rebecca Tabor Armstrong:
The more ugly, older, more cantankerous, more ill and poorer I become, the more I try to make amends by making my colors more vibrant, more balanced and beaming.
