Listening Valley Quotes

“There are adventures of the spirit and one can travel in books and interest oneself in people and affairs. One need never be dull as long as one has friends to help, gardens to enjoy and books in the long winter evenings.”
― D. E. Stevenson, Listening Valley

“...some people might think our lives dull and uneventful, but it does not seem so to us. ...it is not travel and adventure that make a full life. There are adventures of the spirit and one can travel in books and interest oneself in people and affairs. One need ever be dull as long as one has friends to help, gardens to enjoy and books in the long winter evenings.”
― Dorothy Emily Stevenson, Listening Valley

“Most people, looking back at their childhood, see it as a misty country half-forgotten or only to be remembered through an evocative sound or scent, but some episodes of those short years remain clear and brightly coloured like a landscape seen through the wrong end of a telescope.”
― D. E. Stevenson, Listening Valley

“Don't be frightened of life, it's good. Make friends with life...”
― D.E. Stevenson, Listening Valley

“That’s what I feel,” explained Celia. “It’s quite—sensible, really, and I feel it more strongly than anything I’ve ever felt before. But the silly thing is I can’t explain it to Courtney. I can’t tell anybody about it… I haven’t the least idea why I’m telling you.” “Because we’re friends,” said Tonia, who had managed to find her voice. “Because we’re old friends, Celia. That’s why.” “You mean…yes, I see,” said Celia, smiling. “Our friendship is a hundred years’ old.”
― D.E. Stevenson, Listening Valley

“At first Tonia was just a trifle shy (Miss Dunne was a good deal older than herself) but nobody could continue to be shy with Celia Dunne, for she was so amusing and not self-conscious. They went upstairs together, and Miss Dunne washed and talked and admired the house and everything in it in a way that won its owner’s heart.”
― D.E. Stevenson, Listening Valley

“But it was not only that,” continued Mrs. Smilie after a short pause. “It was not only the house. There were other things she did for me, off and on, all the time we were neighbors to her. Maybe you wouldn’t think they were big things, but they meant a good deal to me. It was not so much the things she did as the way she did them. If you were ill Miss Antonia would come in and see you and she’d bring a few flowers. She wouldn’t bring you a great armful of flowers that the gardener had picked, but just a few that she had picked herself, thinking about you…and she’d bring them all ready in a little glass. It would be one of her best glasses, too—not just a jam jar—and she’d put it on the table beside your bed for you to look at. Or maybe it would be soup she’d send you, and she’d send it straight from her own table in one of her own cups, and there’d be a message that Miss Melville thought the soup was specially good today and she hoped you’d fancy it.” Mrs. Smilie paused and looked at Tonia. “I see,” said Tonia slowly.”
― D.E. Stevenson, Listening Valley

“Dawn was breaking now and Tonia rose, for she could stay in bed no longer. She dressed and leaned out of the window…how peaceful it was! The sun had not come up, but the sky was red; it looked as though it were on fire. There were clouds above the dark hills, fiery clouds with bright red fringes hanging above the hills. Above them were more layers of cloud, gray and golden, touched with fire; they floated peacefully in the pale blue sky. Gradually the red faded. The high ridge of hills was dark against the brightness of the sky, dark and smooth and rounded in outline. There was no red at all in the sky, only blue and gold when at last the sun looked over the top. The bright beams of light seemed to spill over the crest of the ridge; it was like molten gold spilling out of a cup. The gold spilled over and ran down the gray gloomy hillside, lighting first the little knolls and then the whole hillside. Tonia’s room was flooded with golden light.”
― D.E. Stevenson, Listening Valley

“There were trees below her, so that she looked out over the tops of them, and there were trees on both sides and above; the little quarry was a dimple in the hill, bathed in sunshine, redolent with the scent of sun-warmed pines. At the bottom of the hill the gray houses of Ryddelton clustered, with their gray slate roofs and curls of smoke rising from their chimneys. In the midst of the town rose the church spire. Beyond the town a road ran, curving away into the distance. The valley itself stretched southward, shallow and sunlit, bounded by rolling hills clad with green grass and patches of brilliant purple heather and dark pine woods, and above the hills was the pale blue sky with fat white clouds floating in it. Along the floor of the valley wound the river, sparkling in the sunshine; it wound among woods and yellow cornfields and bright green meadows full of cattle that looked like toys, and over it all was a faint haze, an almost imperceptible opal-tinted haze that softened the brightness of the colors. Green it was, green and peaceful, an oasis of peace in a land at war.”
― D.E. Stevenson, Listening Valley

“Make friends with life.” She had begun to see what he meant. Not to shut yourself up and grieve or dream but to go forward with your eyes wide open and accept what life offered.”
― D.E. Stevenson, Listening Valley

“...Here we are, two old ladies who sit and talk in the firelight. We have been friends all our lives, nearer than sisters. We have lived long and seen much. Some people might think our lives dull and uneventful but it does not seem so to us. We talked of this and agreed that it is not travel and adventure that make a full life. There are adventures of the spirit and one can travel in books and interest oneself in people and affairs. One need never be dull as long as one has friends to help, gardens to enjoy and books in the long winter evenings.”
― D.E. Stevenson, Listening Valley

“This last book of the diary was more modern in tone and there were little touches of humour in it—as if Miss Antonia had recovered from the sorrow of her youth and made friends with life—it had been written by an old woman, but a woman who had moved with the times and was vitally interested in people and affairs.”
― D.E. Stevenson, Listening Valley