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“I felt a pang -- a strange and inexplicable pang that I had never felt before.
It was homesickness.
Now, even more than I had earlier when I'd first glimpsed it, I longed to be transported into that quiet little landscape, to walk up the path, to take a key from my pocket and open the cottage door, to sit down by the fireplace, to wrap my arms around myself, and to stay there forever and ever.”
― Alan Bradley, The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag

“That night, I fell into a deep, travel-weary sleep, lulled by the familiar sound of the waterfall beyond the window. I dreamed of the beck fairies, a blur of lavender and rose-pink and buttercup-yellow light, flitting across the glittering stream, beckoning me to follow them toward the woodland cottage. There, the little girl with flame-red hair picked daisies in the garden, threading them together to make a garland for her hair. She picked a posy of wildflowers- harebell, bindweed, campion, and bladderwort- and gave them to me.”
― Hazel Gaynor, The Cottingley Secret

“Could even be some prehistoric tricks with wooden logs flying like pendulums or spikes under the moving floor. Perhaps a net—used to catch monkeys?”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“I moved silently across the garden, silvered with moonlight, my feet barely touching the ground. I brushed past fern and tree, following the lights across the stream, toward the cottage in the clearing where I watched a little girl surrounded by light and laughter as the fairies threaded flowers through her hair. I stood out of sight, peering through the tangled blackberry bushes, but the girl saw me, rushing forward, her hand outstretched, a white flower clasped between her fingers. "For Mammy," she said. "For my Mammy.”
― Hazel Gaynor, The Cottingley Secret

“A palace cannot make you rich but a cottage in the woods can! We become rich only through simpleness and modestness!”
― Mehmet Murat ildan

“My path is full of petals–I have swept it for no others.
My thatch gate has been closed–but opens now for you.
It’s a long way to the market, I can offer you little�
Yet here in my cottage there is old wine for our cups.”
― Du Fu

“When nighttime came, the rocking chairs creaked. Waves lulled the girl and her cottage to sleep.”
― Kelly Jordan

“At Livia's indecisive silence, Shaw abandoned the subject, and fastened his gaze on the tousled, heavily planted cottage garden ahead of them. Long banners of honeysuckle trailed over the garden fence, its fragrance making the air thick and sweet. Butterflies danced amid bright splotches of poppies and peonies. Beyond a plot of carrots, lettuce, and radishes, a rose-covered archway led to a tiny glasshouse that was shaded by a parasol-shaped sycamore.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Again the Magic

“A hidden wooden cottage is much safer than a solid fortress standing in an obvious place on the hill!”
― Mehmet Murat ildan

“Dusk settled over our shoulders like a damp purple blanket. The river- the churn and clank of boat traffic, the shush of water, and the tangy smell of catfish and mud- was slowly beaten back by honeysuckle and cicadas and some bird that cooed the same three syllables in a lilting circle.
It was all so familiar and so foreign. I pictured a young girl in a blue cotton dress running down this same road on cinnamon-stick legs. Then I pictured another girl, white and square-jawed, running before her. Adelaide. Mother.
I would've missed it if I hadn't been looking: a narrow dirt drive crowded on either side by briars and untrimmed boughs. Even once I'd followed the track to its end I was uncertain- who would live in such a huddled, bent-back cabin, half-eaten by ivy and some sort of feral climbing rose? The wooden-shake shingles were green with moss; the barn had collapsed entirely.”
― Alix E. Harrow, The Ten Thousand Doors of January

“Lights went on in the cottage, lending it an undeniably warm glow. He smiled, amused as he recalled his Snow White references where Leilani was concerned. "Of course she lives in a cottage," he murmured. "All she needs now are the dwarves." With all the comings and goings at the shop, which he'd spotted through the trailer blinds as he'd labored through his various meetings with Rosemary and the crew, Leilani did indeed seem to be recruiting her own miniature army.”
― Donna Kauffman, Sugar Rush

“The low lintels of the cottage have many disadvantages, but they have one supreme advantage. They afford an immediate topic of conversation. They make things start, quite literally, with a bang.”
― Beverley Nichols, A Thatched Roof

“But the little girl growing up still hisses a tune, that of the cottage train. (Mais la petite fille qui grandit siffle toujours un air, celui du train de la ³¦³ó²¹³Ü³¾¾±Ã¨°ù±ð)”
― Charles de Leusse, Les Contes de la nuit

“A real house with a copper pot for making jam, and sugar cookies in a metal box hidden deep inside a dresser. A long farmhouse table, thick and homey, and cretonne curtains. She smiled. She had no idea what cretonne was, or even if she'd like it, but she liked the way the words went together: cretonne curtains. She'd have a guest room and- who knows- maybe even some guests. A well-kept little garden, hens who'd provide her with tasty boiled eggs, cats to chase after the field mice and dogs to chase after the cats. A little plot of aromatic herbs, a fireplace, sagging armchairs and books all around. White tablecloths, napkin rings unearthed at flea markets, some sort of device so she could listen to the same operas her father used to listen to, and a coal stove where she could let a rich beef-and-carrot stew simmer all morning along.
A rich beef-and-carrot stew. What was she thinking.
A little house like the ones that kids draw, with a door and two windows on either side. Old-fashioned, discreet, silent, overrun with Virginia creeper and climbing roses. A house with those little fire bugs on the porch, red and black insects scurrying everywhere in pairs. A warm porch where the heat of the day would linger and she could sit in the evening to watch for the return of the heron.”
― Anna Gavalda, Hunting and Gathering

“The house was squashed like a mushroom by a thatched roof that hung far out over the walls. A pair of windows sparkled on either side of a rounded, heavy wooden door. There was nothing particularly creepy or witch-ish about it at all, except for maybe some leeks that grew on the roof around the higgledy-piggledy chimney (out of which wafted a lovely, homey-smelling smoke).
Next to the cottage was a small fenced-in kitchen garden, and even in the low light Rapunzel could see it wasn't given over just to herbs and vegetables. Tall rockets of flowers and pretty, feathery foliage shot colorfully out of the corners.
There was even a neat flagstone path that led up to the front door.
"Witch?" Flynn asked, skeptical. "Or, like... crunchy earth mother type who drinks herbal teas and pretends the goddess speaks to her?”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“Grace cut across an Oriental rug done in a plum, navy, and cream geometric pattern. The colors in the carpet pulled the richness of the furniture together. She noticed that Cade walked the perimeter of the room, sticking to the hardwood floor.
Off to the right, a glassed-in sunroom caught the first rays of sunshine from the overcast day. The forest-green wicker furniture, abundant greenery, and a small bookcase with monthly magazines and mystery novels offered peace and solitude.”
― Kate Angell, The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

“He raised her, and smiled with such kindness and affection that I felt sensations of a peculiar and overpowering nature: they were a mixture of pain and pleasure, such as I have never before experienced, either from hunger or cold, warmth or food; and I withdrew from the window, unable to bear these emotions.”
― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein: The Original 1818 text of Mary Shelley

“The mystery and spiritual beauty of a wooden cottage abandoned at the mercy of nature increases day by day!”
― Mehmet Murat ildan

“Inside was a wonder.
The ceiling was entirely obscured by bunches of herbs, flowers, and sweet rushes hanging to dry. Shelves lined every spare inch of wall, filled with bottles of potions, salves, and powders of all colors. A friendly fire blazed out of a flagstone hearth. Farthest away from this, in the back where it was cooler, was a dairy pantry filled with cheese, milk, and butter.
All goat, probably.
Growing through a window was a healthy spray of roses that looked like a neighbor poking her head in for news and a good gossip.”
― Liz Braswell, What Once Was Mine

“The world was awash in hues of dark blue, interrupted only by shafts of buttery light escaping from the shuttered windows of our dilapidated cottage. It was like striding through a living painting- a fleeting moment of stillness, the blues swiftly shifting to solid darkness.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Thorns and Roses

“A large main room, with a small, shut door in the back. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls, crammed with bric-a-brac; books, shells, dolls, herbs, pottery, shoes, crystals, more books, jewels... From the ceiling and wood rafters hung all manner of chains, dead birds, dresses, ribbons, gnarled bits of wood, strands of pearls...

A junk shop- of some immortal horder.

And that hoarder...

In the gloom of the cottage, there sat a large spinning wheel, cracked and dulled with age.

And before that ancient spinning wheel, her back to me, sat the Weaver.

Her thick hair was of richest onyx, tumbling down to her slender waist as she worked the wheel, snow-white hands feeding and pulling the thread around a thorn-sharp spindle.

She looked young- her grey gown simple but elegant, sparkling faintly in the dim forest light through the windows as she sang in a voice of glittering gold.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A Court of Mist and Fury

“Before Chiara's eyes, a cottage sprang from the ground, with a pale blue door and windows with painted doves.
"Oh, my!" Chia exclaimed.
Inside, the cottage was sparsely furnished, with four wooden chairs covered in blue cotton cushions, a table with hearts carved along the edges, an oven that smelled like chocolate and cherries, and a harpsichord in the corner by the window. But it was everything Chiara could have dreamt of. A home of her own.
"This spot is one of my favorites," Agata narrated. "Absolutely lovely. Look there, you've a view of the Silver Brook, and in the mornings the moon crickets sing most beautifully."
Chiara inhaled. All the smells she had loved most from home---the wild grass, the pine cones from the trees, the fresh loaves Papa baked before dawn, the musty parchment from Ily's music paper. They flooded her nostrils all at once, as if she'd brought them with her.”
― Elizabeth Lim, When You Wish Upon a Star

“Her fingers curled into a fist and she shouldered the door open. Its rusted hinges objected, creaking, and a dusty, half-rotten scent swarmed her nose.

Her cheeks heated. For Cassin to be here, to see this-

'Just a brute, remember,' he stepped to her side. 'I've lived in far worse. At least you had walls and a roof.'

Nesta hadn't realised how much she needed to hear those words, and her shoulders loosened as she stepped into the cottage proper. In the chill dimness, broken only by rays of sunlight, she frowned at the ceiling. 'This house used to have a roof.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A ​Court of Silver Flames

“Her fingers curled into a fist and she shouldered the door open. Its rusted hinges objected, creaking, and a dusty, half-rotten scent swarmed her nose.

Her cheeks heated. For Cassian to be here, to see this-

'Just a brute, remember,' he stepped to her side. 'I've lived in far worse. At least you had walls and a roof.'

Nesta hadn't realised how much she needed to hear those words, and her shoulders loosened as she stepped into the cottage proper. In the chill dimness, broken only by rays of sunlight, she frowned at the ceiling. 'This house used to have a roof.”
― Sarah J. Maas, A ​Court of Silver Flames

“I informed him that the cottage had been perfectly satisfactory as it was, to which he replied that the place had been so dank and cheerless as to be suitable only to bats and unsociable gargoyles brooding over their books, and he would sooner put his eyes out than endure weeks of such wretched environs.”
― Heather Fawcett, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries

“Through a break in the willows, if the fog isn't too heavy, you can see the edge of what everyone around here calls the Waters, where a sort of island rises up, accessible by a bridge three planks wide, strung between oil barrels floating on the watery muck. There, under the branches of sycamores, oaks, and hackberries, the green-stained Rose Cottage sinks on the two nearest corners so that it appears to be squatting above the bridge, preparing to pitch itself into the muck. Beyond the cottage, the trees give way to a mosquito-infested no-man's-land of tussocks, marshes, shallows, hummocks, pools, streams, and springs a half mile wide between solid ground and the Old Woman River. This is where Herself harvested wild rice, cattails, staghorn sumac, and a thousand other plants.”
― Bonnie Jo Campbell, The Waters

“A burst of florals hypnotizes me towards the cottage. Sweet peas and moonflowers press through the porch's warped wood panels. I make my way up the whitewashed steps, and a velvet orchid wrapped around the banister tickles my hand. Twinkling sea glass wind chimes wreathed with roses send a shiver down my spine as I grip the tarnished doorknob, hopeful that this place will become familiar soon. After all, it is my home now.”
― Kiana Krystle, Dance of the Starlit Sea

“The best way to build a business is to attract new guests while warmly welcoming those who are returning to you once again. To the new readers of this series, we say, "Welcome to Holly Cottage." To those readers who are returning to read the second book in the series we say, "Welcome to your Return to Holly Cottage, a book where we hope each reader will arrive as a guest and depart as a friend.”
― Norma Collis, Return to Holly Cottage: More Tales from a B&B

“As soon as they entered the forest, Dina felt something stirring in her magic. Normally it lay dormant within her until she needed it for a spell. But now it was thrumming in her blood, reacting to this place. The trees were tall and thick, little sunlight made it to the forest floor, and the narrow pebbled path they walked along twisted out of sight ahead of them.
"There's something here," she whispered to Immy.
"Like magic?"
"Yeah. Like, I don't know how to put it--- like this is an old and powerful place. Like the land is breathing."
"Ooh, I'm going to write that phrase down for my next book," Immy said, pulling her phone out of her pocket.
As Immy slowed down to make her note, Dina walked on, feeling the power of this ancient wood flooding through her. She felt as if she were walking into the mouth of a great, slumbering goddess. But it didn't scare her; it wasn't meant to. It was just nature, older than history, older than bone.
The path curled around to the left, revealing a small cottage in the dappled light, dwarfed by the surrounding oaks. The lights were on inside, illuminating the ivy and wisteria vines that had twined themselves around the outer walls of the cottage. The windows were sashed in dark green wood, complete with window boxes filled with daisies. Daisies that Dina was sure shouldn't have been able to grow in such little light, but this wood seemed to play by its own rules.”
― Nadia El-Fassi, Best Hex Ever

“And yet, what are the true joys of life? By what does a man in all sincerity measure his standard of living? For myself, I would say that the good life is a small house, a cottage, and in that cottage a hearth that will burn wood, and a lamp or two and a shelf of books.”
― Adrian Bell, A Countryman’s Autumn Notebook