“The air was cold to the lungs, the long grass dripping wet, and the herbs on it gave out their spiced astringent scent. In a little while on all sides the Cicada would begin to sing. The grass was me , and the air, the distant invisible mountains were me, the tired oxen were me. I breathed with the slight night-wind in the thorn trees.”
Quote by Isak Dinesen
Book:Out of Africa
Work
Out of Africa
This book is a personal narrative of the author's life in Africa, covering her time spent in the region during the early 20th century. The author shares her observations and reflections on the people, landscapes, and culture of Africa during that period. more
Author
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