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M. Wylie Blanchet

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M. Wylie Blanchet


Born
in Montreal, Quebec, Canada
May 02, 1891

Died
September 09, 1961


M. Wylie Blanchet, née Muriel Wylie Liffiton (2 May 1891 - 9 September 1961) was a Canadian travel writer.
Born in Montreal, Quebec, and married Geoffrey Orme Blanchet on 30 May 1909. Following her husband's death in 1926, Blanchet embarked on annual summer cruises along the British Columbia coast with her five children. Her 1961 book, The Curve of Time, documented these travels.

She died in 1961 while working on a second book.
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Average rating: 4.06 · 2,888 ratings · 436 reviews · 2 distinct worksSimilar authors
The Curve of Time: The Clas...

4.06 avg rating — 2,903 ratings — published 1961 — 35 editions
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A Whale Named Henry

4.83 avg rating — 6 ratings — published 1983 — 5 editions
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Quotes by M. Wylie Blanchet  (?)
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“Enjoyment is always greatest when you have enough contrast to measure it by.”
M. Wylie Blanchet, The Curve of Time: The Classic Memoir of a Woman and Her Children Who Explored the Coastal Waters of the Pacific Northwest

“Destiny rarely follows the pattern we would choose for it and the legacy of death often shapes our lives in ways we could not imagine. Death comes to everyone in their time - to some a parting, to some a release. We who are nearest go with them up the long golden stairs - up, up. A trumpet shrills - a gate clangs and we are left standing without. Then down the long stairs we retrace our steps to earth - an earth that is all numb and still - so still that one hears strange sounds - catches strange vagrant notes on one's heightened senses.

But small hands are tugging and voices are insistent.
"Will he ever come back from that other place?"
"Oh no, he doesn't want to come back!"
"Does he like it there?"
"Oh yes, he loves it."
"Well then, that's good." And happy laughter rings through the tall green pines and along the rocks and sandy beaches by the sea. No one grudges him his place in the sun.”
M. Wylie Blanchet

“...when the morning wind caught up with us, and with it some quite unexpected fog - soft and rolling. It would roll down the open channels in great round masses - hesitate for an island, and then roll over it and on. It would fill up all the bays - searching and exploring. It came on board and felt us all over with soft, damp fingers, and we hoisted our sails and fled before it.

...A little farther on, the wind blew harder, but it was steadier...The mountains grew higher and higher, and gossiped together across our heads. And somewhere down at their feet, on that narrow ribbon of water, our boat with the white sails flew swiftly along, completely dwarfed by its surroundings.”
M. Wylie Blanchet

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