“I remember the good evenings I have fished, even the ones that realised material hopes not by the fish that came to the fly, but by the colour and movement of the water and sky, by the sounds and scents and gentle stirrings that were all about me.” RememberSoundWaterSeaSkyMovementMaterialsRiversFishesBoatEveningGentleColourLakesFishingScentRealisedStirringGood Evening Author:Roderick Haig-Brown
“Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn't. Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.” ThinkingSoulBigsLightCoursesSoundWaterMemoriesExistenceHalfFourSeaSummerRiversWesternFishesBoatRhythmMy SoulEveningLakesFishingLengthFadesFishermanMontanaArcticCanyonsFly FishingSummer DaysRivers And Water Book:A River Runs Through It Source: A River Runs Through It
“I love the evening star. Does that sound foolish? I used to go into the backyard, after sunset, and wait for it until it shone above the dark gum tree. I used to whisper 'There you are, my darling.' And just in that first moment it seemed to be shining for me alone. It seemed to understand this ... something which is like longing, and yet it is not longing. Or regret - it is more like regret.” FirstsDoeMomentsUsedStarsWaitingSoundDarkTreeRegretLongingShiningFoolishEveningSunsetDarlingMe AloneBackyardsGum Book:Undiscovered country: the New Zealand stories of Katherine Mansfield Source: Undiscovered country: the New Zealand stories of Katherine Mansfield
“Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; There as I passed, with careless steps and slow, The mingling notes came soften'd from below; The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, The sober herd that low'd to meet their young; The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, The playful children just let loose from school; The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.” MindChildrenMadeSchoolYoungSoundVoiceStepsWatchesLaughingDogSweetWindLowsRoseNotesConfusionEveningHillsLoudSpokesVillageShadePoolPausesSoberCarelessHerdsWhisperingGeeseNoisyVacantNightingalesMingling Author:Oliver Goldsmith