Nancy B. Brewer Quotes

The pages that follow will be our journey of the life we built together here in Concord, North Carolina. These pages will reveal fragments from the past and events that occurred along the way.

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.

Are you a traveling man he asked?

The curtains were not yet drawn and with the moonlight spreading across the room, I could see clearly. I undressed and slipped a soft cotton gown over my naked body. I pulled the blanket off the foot of my bed, covered my shoulders and wa...lked out on the balcony. The cool night air blowing through my hair served as a reminder that only a hint of summer remained in this year of 1860.

The Baptist Church rejects man with wooden leg: It appears the Baptist preacher refused to baptize a veteran of the late war in the holy water- saying they only baptize flesh and blood, not wood.

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

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

Daddy-by Nancy B. BrewerWhen 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.

{Summertime she speaks of winter, she eats ham, but speaks of beef, got a good man but, flirts with another. She might as well go to hell, cause she ain't gonna be happy in heaven either!}

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

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

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.

(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)

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

The wind blowing through the cracks in the walls was fitting for this isolated and lonely place.

I can hear my steps echo as I follow him to the end of the hall. The door to the small closet under the steps is standing ajar. He closes the door and latches it.

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

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.

It was a warm and natural feeling to be there. We were not black or white people. We were just people bound together by love and understanding. As I walked out of that church, I felt like I had rediscovered my inner peace.

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

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.

Humans are curious creatures. What we cannot see, our logical minds will try to deny.

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.

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

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.

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.

Ain’t nothing too serious. Even death is a joke on the old devil, if we are living for the Lord.

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.

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

I am reminded that the children we birth do not belong to us. They belong to God. We are simply the vessel through which they arrive on this earth. We are appointed to care for and guide them; however, we must recognize when the time comes for them to govern their own lives.

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

Like a sparrow in its flitting, like a swallow in its flying, a curse that is causeless does not alight.

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

According to Robert, his friend Moses was a soldier in the first war, as he described it. He fought Indians and soldiers in red coats.

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

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.

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

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

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

He was wearing a little bag of “Mojo” around his neck.

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.

The sun had just slipped behind the trees and evening cast its dark, smoky shadow.