Nancy B. Brewer Quotes

I wonder if it is possible to escape the clinches of despair; or would despair become the hunter and reclaim me as its prisoner.

It appears to me that man must always have war. When one great rebellion ends, another will begin. Do they fight for a great cause or is it egos that must be conquered?

I don't know where we are, but we'll soon find our way home! Le avventure di Pinocchio

To those of you who are enslaved by your past, may my story set you free. For youth is innocent and its beauty is to always be cherished.

I turned to see a young woman with bed hair, wearing a only a thin nightdress.

As my body recalled my soul, I began to quiver with pain and gasp for air.

On this night of the Harvest Moon. They tossed bones into the "Bone Fire" and asked the yellow moon to shine its protection over them. (Today we call it a "Bonfire")

Daddy-by Nancy B. Brewer
When I used to say, speak up you are as good as they, You would just smile and say, let them have their way. When in my foolish youth, I so often disobeyed,
He would just smile and say, let her have her way. When summer passed and winter overcame. He was not afraid, never once did he say. When in the moonlight his final hour came, He just smiled and said Lord I'll go your way.

It was not an unusual site to see Negro tenant farmers crossing the intersection of Spring and Barbrick on the way to the cotton warehouse

She turned her painted blue eyes toward the assistant and said something in French before she left.

The mind builds its own home-

I am a survivor. But I am not unique of the people that survived the great late war. We all have our stories to tell. But for most of us the hardened corners have soften with the passage of time.

Now here I am, living in the land of tall pine trees and red dirt hills

Papa was our strength and the very fiber that wove our family together. He was our foundation and our rock, but even rocks, break, given enough stress.

Have you forgotten me?
by Nancy B. Brewer

The bricks I laid or the stitches I sewed.
I was the one that made the quilt; a drop of blood still shows from my needle prick.
Your wedding day in lace and satin, in a dress once worn by me.
I loaned your newborn baby my christening gown, a hint of lavender still preserved.

Do you know our cause, the battles we won and the battles we lost?
When our soldiers marched home did you shout hooray!
Or shed a tear for the fallen sons.

What of the fields we plowed, the cotton, the tobacco and the okra, too.
There was always room at my table for one more,
Fried chicken, apple pie, biscuits and sweet ice tea.

A time or two you may have heard our stories politely told.
Some of us are famous, recorded on the pages of history.
Still, most of us left this world without glory or acknowledgment.

We were the first to walk the streets you now call home,
Perhaps you have visited my grave and flowers left,
but did you hear me cry out to you?

Listen, my child, to the voices of your ancestors.
Take pride in our accomplishments; find your strength in our suffering.
For WE are not just voices in the wind, WE are a living part of YOU!

Rebel Number Four" is waiting patiently by the door. I named him "Rebel Number Four," for he is the fourth of his kind I have given the name "Rebel." To many he may be just a hound dog, but to me he is a champion and a friend to the end.

Never begrudge others their happiness. Who knows when happiness will be short lived?

Like the magnolia tree,
She bends with the wind,
Trials and tribulation may weather her,
Yet, after the storm her beauty blooms,
See her standing there, like steel,
With her roots forever buried,
Deep in her Southern soil.

For in the forest someone is always watching and someone is always listening!

I stop to brace myself against the walls, which are painted with the fingerprints of family.

Of course in 1860, I had heard the political talk.

(The golden goose has died, my prince turned into a frog, the Kingdom is lost, everyone has turned into stone and I am locked in the tower)

Children worked in the mills: I will always believe that children are designed for green meadows and play, not for factories and cotton dust.

The sun flickers through the trees and shines upon the faces of the men lined up on the porches. Soldiers no more, just ordinary men who, by the grace of God, were spared to tell their stories

He smiled at me and I felt the tenderness only a daughter could feel.

The people who say dreams never come true, must have been asleep when opportunity knocked

Before I disappear behind the door, I stop and turn around to look at him.

Humans will never be in charge of this world, as long as dust and weeds do as they please.

We Southerners are a strong lot. Like our ancestors before us, we will survive. I will never lose faith. I am standing on the promise that tomorrow will be a better day.

I consider all things a work of fiction, even myself.

The heavy smell of incense gave me an uneasy feeling as if I had walked into a tomb

I recall the words, the faces, the stale perfume and the pungent odor that filled the room..

He is dressed in a long, white robe and in his hand is a white cap. I draw up as he passes down the hall; he does not see me. Shortly I hear a horse leaving. There is much I do not know about him, but tonight I know one of his secrets. He is a midnight rider.

Perhaps you have visited my grave and flowers left, but did you hear me cry out to you!

Sea and land may lie between us, but my heart is always there with you.

God does not care what you have done, but only what you will do

Red for the blood of Christ, green for his everlasting love, blue for heaven above, and old for the King of Kings.

Her blue eyes are full of tears, but she is smiling. Her expression is as bright as a newborn Christian.} one my favorite lines from Beyond Sandy Ridge.

Mother used to say if you stood out in a rain like that; it would wash away your sins-

Yet, the quest for knowledge will overcome us and we must know. And, at last, we must see where the road ends, even if it be the cliff.

The rose that grows in grace will blossom into beauty

God only knows what the doctor gave her. However,the medication has run out and she now must face the reality on her on accord.

The seamstress
With fingers weary and worn,
And eyelids heavy and red,
Long after the house sleeps,
Still in her chair she sits.
Her needle flickering, in-out,
Daylight nears and the fire burns low,
Alone with her shirt, still she sews.
She, held prisoner by her thread,
Her heads nods, but sleep forbids,
Just one more seam or button two.
Listen brothers, sons and husbands all,
Call it not just cotton, linen or only wool,
Count each stitch and say a prayer,
For heart and soul that put them there.

I brought you something. It's my sister's coat. It
gets cold in Nashville in the wintertime.

However, the path of God is unknown and deep are the waters. Often do we see what is pleasing, take a sudden turn of providence, that deprives even the most Godly of their happiness. We should not fear theses changes and trust that all things work for the greater good.

As I held the family Bible in my hand and I could almost feel the joys and sorrows that connected me to the past.

Hollering at the top of his voice, a little boy walks by a cranky old man. "Boy, why are you a hollering as I walk by?" The little boy replies, "Old man, why are you walking by when I am a hollering.

I could faintly smell the ocean. I imagined being one of the old oak trees standing there swaying in the wind and braving all sorts of weather. I pondered what they had seen in the past and what they might see in the future

Are you a traveling man he asked?

I am strong as steel and my roots are planted deep in this southern soil. Time may have weathered me, but I will always bend with the wind

Any woman looks innocent in a white veil

To those of you who have lost your way, may my story serve as a reminder that life is a journey. The lessons we learn along the way are not for our sake alone. We are obligated to share them

{In the shadows where the ancestors sleep, the bird's song is young, but all else is old. Stillness surrounds me and I breathe softly expecting the unexpected.} from book in progress

With time, grief has a way of slipping down in the crevices of your heart. It never really leaves; it just makes room for more.

Today's breakfast consist of rice and a piece of bread fried in a bit of salt pork grease. At least I have my memories of grand banquets and fine foods, but this is all the children have ever known. I suppose it is best not to have anything to compare.

For with all that is grand, grander is the expansion of the mind.

I believe that all things happen under the watchful eye of God and the lessons we learn along the way only serve to make us stronger.