It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside. Maud Hart Lovelace More Quotes by Maud Hart Lovelace More Quotes From Maud Hart Lovelace And yet, even as she spoke, she knew that she did not wish to come back. not to stay, not to live. She loved the little yellow cottage more than she loved any place on earth. but she was through with it except in her memories. Maud Hart Lovelace wishyellowmemories She thought of the library, so shining white and new; the rows and rows of unread books; the bliss of unhurried sojourns there and of going out to a restaurant, alone, to eat. Maud Hart Lovelace shiningwhitebook I cannot remember back to a year in which I did not consider myself to be a writer, and the younger I was the bigger that capital 'W. Maud Hart Lovelace biggerrememberyears
