Best 14 quotes of Irene Hunt on MyQuotes

Beautiful hours move so quickly.

Children are not created fully equipped with such values as courage, compassion, integrity, and insights into the motives and needs of themselves and of others.

I don't know if anyone ever 'wins' a war.

It happens the world over - we love ourselves more than we do the one we say we love. We all want to be Number One, we've got to be Number One or nothing! We can't see that we could make ourselves loved and needed in the Number Two, or Three, or Four spot. No sir, we've got to be Number One, and if we can't make it, we'll rip and tear at the loved one till we've ruined every smidgin of love that was ever there.

I was especially perceptive to all things beautiful that morning-raspberries in blue china bowls were enough to make the heart sing.

No matter how hard times are, people still want music.

That was the way it was that beautiful evening of cold November rain and muddy country roads and crazy windshield wipers. That was the moment of my greatest security and confidence; it was the time when I realized that love makes one a better person, a kinder gentler one.

We mustn’t give trouble a shape before it throws its shadow.

From my window I watched the full moon—a moon that reminded me of Brett—become shadowed, little by little until there was only a deep blackness in the woods at night. I would sit there wakeful, hour after hour, and wonder if this aching around my heart, this sense of being alone, forlorn and unwanted in a world where there was gayety and love for others of my age, was going to continue for all of my days.

I found lines that mirrored an ache and longing I had so often felt when the beauty around my woods cathedral was too intense, when the need to grasp and keep loveliness left me with a sense of desolate frustration.

I had sparkle that morning, sparkle that originated somewhere deep inside me and spread outward to my cheeks and eyes, even it seemed, to the gleam of my hair.

...I wondered why so much had been written about love's pain and so little about the glorious relief of being delivered from love's pain.

One never stops climbing, Julie, unless he wants to stop and vegetate. There’s always something just ahead.

On such a night,’ I thought, ‘were ill and good, Bright and unlovely; precious, tawdry, All mingled into one And pressed against my heart.