A Quote by Laura Ingalls Wilder
The sweetness of life lies in usefulness, like honey deep in the heart of a clover bloom.
Related Quotes
What a miserable thing life is: you're living in clover, only the clover isn't good enough.
The fly that prefers sweetness to a long life may drown in honey.
What a miserable thing life is: you're in clover; only the clover isn't good enough.
When we bless God for mercies, we usually prolong them. When we bless God for miseries, we usually end them. Praise is the honey of life which a devout heart extracts from every bloom of providence and grace.
What airs outblown from ferny dells And clover-bloom and sweet brier smells.
To pile up honey upon sugar, and sugar upon honey, to an interminable tedious sweetness.
As well as any bloom upon a flower I like the dust on the nettles, never lost Except to prove the sweetness of a shower.
When you came, you were like red wine and honey, and the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
The pedigree of honey does not concern the bee; A clover, any time, to him is aristocracy.
As it is impossible to verbally describe the sweetness of honey to one who has never tasted honey, so the goodness of God cannot be clearly communicated by way of teaching if we ourselves are not able to penetrate into the goodness of the Lord by our own experience.
[Clover] secretly hitched a ride with a nice German couple and their new baby...Clover appeared to the baby, so as to be a delightful, soothing surprise. Well, the child did like Clover. In fact, she held him and cooed. When the parents turned around to look at her and saw their child holding a furry, living creature, they needlessly panicked.
Take from my palms, to soothe your heart, a little honey, a little sun, in obedience to Persephone's bees. You can't untie a boat that was never moored, nor hear a shadow in its furs, nor move through thick life without fear. For us, all that's left is kisses tattered as the little bees that die when they leave the hive. Deep in the transparent night they're still humming, at home in the dark wood on the mountain, in the mint and lungwort and the past. But lay to your heart my rough gift, this unlovely dry necklace of dead bees that once made a sun out of honey.
The sweetness of life lies in dispensing with formalities.
Hatred is a heavy burden. It sinks the heart deep in the breast, and lies like a tombstone on all joys.
The word is like an object - we were thinking "bloom," "doom." It encapsulated tons: the bloom, the end of the bloom, and then coming back the next year.
Find the sweetness in your own heart, then you may find the sweetness in every heart.
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