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Flora Thompson

Flora Thompson Books

Novelist

Lark Rise

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“Over To Candleford Chapter XXVIII: Growing Pains "This accumulated depression of months slid from her at last in a moment. She had run out into the fields one day in a pet and was standing on a small stone bridge looking down on brown running water flecked with cream-coloured foam. It was a dull November day with grey sky and mist. The little brook was scarcely more than a trench to drain the fields; but overhanging it were thorn bushes with a lacework of leafless twigs; ivy had sent trails down the steep banks to dip in the stream, and from every thorn on the leafless twigs and from every point of the ivy leaves water hung in bright drops, like beads. A flock of starlings had whirred up from the bushes at her approach and the clip, clop of a cart-horse's hoofs could be heard on the nearest road, but these were the only sounds. Of the hamlet, only a few hundred yards away, she could hear no sound, or see as much as a chimney-pot, walled in as she was by the mist. Laura looked and looked again. The small scene, so commonplace and yet so lovely, delighted her." It was so near the homes men and yet so far removed from their thoughts. The fresh green moss, the glistening ivy, and the reddish twigs with their sparkling drops seemed to have been made for her alone and the hurrying, foam-flecked water seemed to have some message for her. She felt suddenly uplifted. The things which had troubled her troubled her no more. She did not reason. She had already done plenty of reasoning. Too much, perhaps. She simply stood there and let it all sink in until she felt that her own small affairs did not matter. Whatever happened to her, this, and thousands of other such small, lovely sights would remain and people would come suddenly upon them and look and be glad. A wave of pure happiness pervaded her being, and, although it soon receded, it carried away with it her burden of care. Her first reaction was to laugh aloud at herself. What a fool she had been to make so much of so little.”

WorriesDepression RecoveryLife IssuesLife S Problems
Book:Over to Candleford
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“No age can have everthing and in material ways ours is more fortunate than any preceding one. Our ancestors appear to have mastered the art of living better than we are able to when an easy conscience, largely due to the unshaken faith of the time, left a marging of spiritual energy with which to enjoy life.”

WayArtAgeAbleSpiritualEnergyLeftEasyEnjoyMaterialsConscienceDuesFortunateAncestorEnjoy LifeArt Of LivingTime LeftSpiritual EnergyLiving Better
Author:Flora Thompson
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“Now, with the glamour of the past upon them we are inclined to look back on old world festivities with regret and consider present day dances as a poor substitute for the old. From an artistic point of view, they maybe, but in individual freedom and independence of spirit they mark a stage upward.”

WorldLooksPastSpiritIndividualPoorViewsStageRegretMarkIndependencePoint Of ViewArtisticSubstitutesGlamourPresent DayOld WorldIndividual FreedomFestivities
Author:Flora Thompson
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“Manner and morals have improved, improved wages and world travel during the war have had effect, and the farm labourer now is an intelligent, self respecting workman, on a level at least with the town artisan. The village rustic of the past no longer exists outside of the comic papers.”

WorldWarSelfPastLevelsMoralEffectsPaperIntelligentTownsComicSelf RespectVillageFarmsWagesPapersTravel The WorldWorkmenArtisansLabourersRustic
Book:The Peverel papers: nature notes written in Liphoo, Hampshire, 1921-1927
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“What is charm, it is not a moral quality, it is not intellectual for no man by much thinking is able to add a grain of it to his personality. One either has it or has it not, it cannot be acquired or even cultivated. It is not physical even, it seems to be added to the human personality, an aura, a glow, the gold dust upon a butterfly's wing, the bloom upon a peach.”

ThinkingMenHumansSeemsAbleQualityMoralPersonalityIntellectualGoldWingsAddDustCharmButterflyGrainAurasPeachesHuman PersonalityGold Dust
Author:Flora Thompson
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“Readers have no doubt noticed how seldom builders live in houses of their own construction. You will find a town or village expanding in all directions with their masterpieces of modernity in the way of houses and bungalows; but the builder himself you will usually find living nearer the heart of things, snugly and comfortably housed in some more substantial, if less convenient, building of less recent date.”

IfsWayHeartHouseDoubtBuildingReaderTownsNo DoubtVillageConstructionMasterpieceExpandingConvenientModernityBuilder
Book:Lark Rise to Candleford
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“It was a morning of ground mist, yellow sunshine, and high rifts of blue, white-cloud-dappled sky. The leaves were still thick on the trees, but de-spangled gossamer threads hung on the bushes and the shrill little cries of unrest of the swallows skimming the green open park spaces of the park told of autumn and change.”

LittlesStillsSpaceWhiteMorningTreeSkyCryBlueGreenCloudsParksSunshineAutumnYellowThickThreadHungMistOctoberUnrestRiftWhite CloudsSkimming
Author:Flora Thompson
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“Candleford Green was but a small village and there were fields and meadows and woods all around it. As soon as Laura crossed the doorstep, she could see some of these. But mere seeing from a distance did not satisfy her; she longed to go alone far into the fields and hear the birds singing, the brooks tinkling, and the wind rustling through the corn, as she had when a child. To smell things and touch things, warm earth and flowers and grasses, and to stand and gaze where no one could see her, drinking it all in.”

ChildrenEarthSeeingFieldsWindFlowerSingingBirdGreenDistanceMereDrinkingWoodsWarmSmellGrassVillageCornBrooksMeadowsDoorstepLauraSmall Villages
Author:Flora Thompson
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