3. "Whoever John Stoner is, he is no magician. He could not have made you into a hero if you had not already possessed the raw material." -Concordia Glade to Ambrose Wills."
- Amanda Quick, Lie by Moonlight
4. "When my play was with thee I never questioned who thou wert. I knew nor shyness nor fear, my life was boisterous. In the early morning thou wouldst call me from my sleep like my own comrade and lead me running from glade to glade. On those days I never cared to know the meaning of songs thou sangest to me. Only my voice took up the tunes, and my heart danced in their cadence. Now, when the playtime is over, what is this sudden sight that is come upon me? The world with eyes bent upon thy feet stands in awe with all its silent stars."
- Rabindranath Tagore, Gitanjali: Song Offerings
5. "... and we will shade Ourselves whole summers by a river glade; And I will tell thee stories of the sky, And breathe thee whispers of its minstrelsy, My happy love will overwing all bounds! O let me melt into thee! let the sounds Of our close voices marry at their birth; Let us entwine hoveringly!"
- John Keats, Bright Star: Love Letters and Poems of John Keats to Fanny Brawne
6. "Once upon a time there were two cities within a city. One was light and one was dark. One moved restlessly all day while the other never stirred. One was warm and filled with ever-changing lights. One was cold and fixed in place by stones. And when the sun went down each afternoon on Maximus Films, the city of the living, it began to resemble Green Glade cemetery just across the way, which was the city of the dead."
- Ray Bradbury, A Graveyard for Lunatics: Another Tale of Two Cities
7. "It was good to emerge from this silent semi-darkness into a bright glade. Suddenly everything was different: the earth was warm; the air was in movement; you could smell the junipers in the sun; there were large, wilting bluebells which looked as though they had been cast from mauve-coloured metal, and wild carnations on sticky, resinous stems. You felt suddenly carefree; the glade was like one happy day in a life of poverty. The lemon-coloured butterflies, the polished, blue-black beetles, the ants, the grass-snake rustling through the grass, seemed to be joining together in a common task. Birch-twigs, sprinkled with fine leaves, brushed against his face; a grasshopper jumped up and landed on him as though he were a tree-trunk; it clung to his belt, calmly tensing its green haunches as it sat there with its round, leathery eyes and sheep-like face. The last flowers of the wild strawberries. The heat of the sun on his metal buttons and belt-clasp . . . No U-88 or night-flying Heinkel"
- Vasily Grossman, Life and Fate
8. "She loved him because he had brought her back to life. She had been like a caterpillar in a cocoon, and he had drawn her out and shown her that she was a butterfly. She would have spent her entire life numb to the joys and pains of love, if he had not walked into her secret glade, and shared his story poems with her, and kissed her so lightly, and then slowly, gently, awakened the love that lay dormant in her heart. He had been so patient, so tolerant, despite his youth. For that she would always love him." pg. 799"
- Ken Follett, The Pillars of the Earth
9. "Skrevet av meg. Skrevet idag for å lette mitt hjerte. Jeg har mistet min post i kafeen og mine glade dager. Alt har jeg mistet. Og kafeen var Kafé Maximilian. En ung herre i grå klær kom aften efter aften sammen med to venner og satte seg ved et av mine bord. Det kom så mange herrer, alle hadde de et vennlig ord til meg, – denne intet. Han var høy og sped, hadde bløtt, sort hår og blå øyne som han undertiden så på meg med. På hans overmunn var en liten mustasje begynt å vokse (Kjærlighetens slaver)"
- Knut Hamsun, Krattskog
10. "There are some delightful places in this world which have a sensual charm for the eyes. One loves them with a physical love. We people who are attracted by the countryside cherish fond memories of certain springs, certain woods, certain ponds, certain hills, which have become familiar sights and can touch our hearts like happy events. Sometimes indeed the memory goes back towards a forest glade, or a spot on a river bank or an orchard in blossom, glimpsed only once on a happy day, but preserved in our heart."
- Guy de Maupassant, Selected Short Stories