“It seemed unlikely that she’d leave the island again in her lifetime, she thought, not only because of the state of her finances but mostly because of the way she felt rooted here, like she grew out of the green grass” LoveHomeHomesicknessThe Wild HuntIsland Life Author:Emma Seckel
“No matter how hard one tried, this island was not a place of leaving easily. It clung to a person like a dee. He was still here, always still here” LoveHomeHomesicknessIsland Book:The Wild Hunt Source: The Wild Hunt
“No matter how hard one tried, this island was not a place of leaving easily. It clung to a person like dew. He was still here, always still here” HomeHomesicknessIsland Book:The Wild Hunt Source: The Wild Hunt
“You don’t sound happy, mo ghrád,” he had told her over her landlady’s telephone, about a year after she’d left. She wasn’t, not even then, though there was still the buoyant hope that one day it would slip into place like a gear in a clock. But she hadn’t gone in search of happiness. Happiness was at home, on the island, in the midnight suns of summer, the winter skies dancing with lights...” HomeHomesicknessIslandThe Wild Hunt Book:The Wild Hunt Source: The Wild Hunt
“She suspected that nobody still left on this island really deserved the blissful ignorance that was prerequisite to that slow and simple life anymore.” The Wild Hunt Book:The Wild Hunt Source: The Wild Hunt
“One morning Áine had sailed out of their lives and the next the Welleses stopped talking about her. But she lingered. There were parts of her that were too well woven into the fabric of their lives to excise neatly” The Wild Hunt Book:The Wild Hunt Source: The Wild Hunt
“The day dawned blue and blurry. A light frost on the grass, a pale, clear morning. It was the first of November, and the sluagh were gone. The light trickled over the island slowly. It brushed against the ruined church spire and dripped down to the memorial, reaching into the crevices of the names writ therein. It poked through curtains and shutters to creep along countertops and kiss sleeping foreheads. It ran along the high street, knocked on the door, danced over the boats in the harbour, and made a sprint up the hill away from the village. It ricocheted through the fields and through the trees, paused reverently at the standing stones, rocketed up to the ancient cathedral where the seagulls swooped, keening.” The Wild Hunt Book:The Wild Hunt Source: The Wild Hunt