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Image of the quote is loading... SaveSave Everyone says she’s mad.’‘How do they know?’ I asked.‘Because she’s different from other people, I suppose.’‘Is that being mad?’‘No. Not really, I suppose madness is not seeing things as others see them. - Quote by Ruskin Bond

Everyone says she’s mad.’‘How do they know?’ I asked.‘Because she’s different from other people, I suppose.’‘Is that being mad?’‘No. Not really, I suppose madness is not seeing things as others see them.

Ruskin Bond
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But the trees seemed to know me. They whispered among themselves and beckoned me nearer. And looking around, I noticed the other small trees and wild plants and grasses had sprung up under the protection of the trees we had placed there. The trees had multiplied! They were moving. In one small corner of the world, Grandfather's dream was coming true and the trees were moving again.
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I don't want to rot like mangoes at the end of the season, or burnout like the sun at the and of the day. I cannot live like the gardener, the cook and water-carrier, doing the same task everyday of my life... I want to be either somebody or nobody. I don't want to be anybody.
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To be able to laugh and to be merciful are the only things that make man better than the beast
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It's courage, not luck, that takes us through to the end of the road.
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And when the rains were over and it was October and the birds were in song again, I could lie in the sun on sweet-smelling grass and gaze up through a pattern of oak leaves into a blind-blue heaven. And I would thank my God for leaves and grass and the smell of things, the smell of mint and myrtle and bruised clover, and the touch of things, the touch of grass and air and sky, the touch of the sky's blueness.
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The rain swirls over the trees and roofs of the town, and the parched earth soaks it up, exuding a fragrance that comes only once in a year, the fragrance of quenched earth, the most exhilarating of all smells.
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For nature does things in good order: And birds and butterflies recognizeNo man-made border
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The sunlight, penetrating the gaps in the tall trees, plays chess on the gravestones, shifting slowly and thoughtfully across the worn old stones. The wind, like a hundred violins, plays perpetually in the topmost branches of the deodars.
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