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نویسنده: کتابدوست - ۱۳٩٢/٤/٢۸

 “There’s lots of dead wood as ought to be cut out,” he said. “And there’s a lot of old wood, but it made some new last year. This here’s a new bit,” and he touched a shoot which looked brownish green instead of hard, dry gray.

Mary touched it herself in an eager, reverent way. “That one?” she said. “Is that one quite alive—quite?”

Dickon curved his wide smiling mouth. “It’s as wick as you or me,” he said; and Mary remembered that Martha had told her that “wick” meant “alive” or “lively.”

“I’m glad it’s wick!” she cried out in her whisper. “I want them all to be wick. Let us go round the garden and count how many wick ones there are.”

 

The secret garden / Frances Hodgson Burnett

 

کتاب هایی را که خوانده ام مانند غذاهایی که خورده ام به یاد نمی آورم ، با این همه همان ها مرا ساخته اند. (امرسون)
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