Eden Phillpotts,
A West Country Pilgrimage
“ For their jewels will be unfolding presently, to soften the cleft granite with misty green and bring the vernal time to these silent cliffs.The quarry lies like a gash in the slope of the hills. To the dizzy edges of it creep heather and the bracken; beneath, upon its precipices, a stout rowan or two rises, and everywhere Nature has fought and laboured to hide this wound driven so deep into her mountain-side by man. A cicatrix of moss and fern and many grasses conceal the scars of pick and gunpowder; time has weathered the harsh edges of the riven stone ”
