"My dear," he sighed when the lights were turned on and they both looked older, "it's been a mistake, our having a family and writing histories and g… - Willa Cather

She had felt as if her heart were hiding down there, somewhere, with the quail and the plover and all the little wild things that crooned or buzzed in the sun. Under the long shaggy ridges, she felt the future stirring.

Sometimes I rode north to the big prairie-dog town to watch the brown earth-owls fly home in the late afternoon and go down to their nests underground with the dogs.

She was quick to anger, quick to laughter, and jolly from the depths of her soul.