The child now shewed her a narrow and rugged descent, made by cutting the red clay and stones, of which the cliffs are here composed, into a sort of rude steps.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I remember when my mother pointed to a stone, and she said this was the kind of stone people used to place on the feet of the baby girls to stop them trying to climb away and unbind their feet.
When a father climbs a dangerous mountain and dies, we mourn. When a mother does, we question her judgment. How could she?
Once upon a time, if you wanted to talk about the notion of child abandonment, of a mother not being a good mother, that's built into the mother who sends the babes into the woods, and they use the bits of bread or stones to come home again.
It's all kinds of these profound things crashing on you when your child arrives into the world. It's like you've met your reason to live.
As the work proceeded we found that the western end of the cutting receded under the slope of the rock, and thus was partly roofed over by the overhanging rock.
The child often sees only what he already knows. He projects the whole of his verbal thought into things. He sees mountains as built by men, rivers as dug out with spades, the sun and moon as following us on our walks.
Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw.
My words in her mind: cold polished stones sinking through a quagmire.
Nature teaches more than she preaches. There are no sermons in stones. It is easier to get a spark out of a stone than a moral.
Whenever a toddler sees a pile of blocks, he wants to tear it down.