If a man is to be obsessed by something, I suppose a boat is as good as anything, perhaps a bit better than most.
E. B. WHITEChildren are game for anything. I throw them hard words, and they backhand them over the net. They love words that give them a hard time, provided they are in a context that absorbs their attention.
More E. B. White Quotes
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Well,” said Stuart, “a misspelled word is an abomination in the sight of everyone.
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The so-called science of poll-taking is not a science at all but mere necromancy. People are unpredictable by nature, and although you can take a nation’s pulse, you can’t be sure that the nation hasn’t just run up a flight of stairs.
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Semi-colons only prove that the author has been to college.
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All writing is communication; creative writing is communication through revelation-it is the Self-escaping into the open.
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You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what’s a life, anyway?
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A poet dares be just so clear and no clearer… He unzips the veil from beauty, but does not remove it. A poet utterly clear is a trifle glaring.
E. B. WHITE -
A good farmer is nothing more nor less than a handy man with a sense of humus.
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I have one share in corporate Earth, and I am nervous about the management.
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Writing is both mask and unveiling.
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A poem compresses much in a small space and adds music, thus heightening its meaning.
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Nauseous. Nauseated. The first means “sickening to contemplate”; the second means “sick at the stomach.” Do not, therefore, say “I feel nauseous,” unless you are sure you have that effect on others.
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Be obscure clearly! Be wild of tongue in a way we can understand.
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Stuart rose from the ditch, climbed into his car, and started up the road that led toward the north…As he peeked ahead into the great land that stretched before him, the way seemed long. But the sky was bright, and he somehow felt he was headed in the right direction.
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A schoolchild should be taught grammar-for the same reason that a medical student should study anatomy.
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It is Sunday, mid-morning-Sunday in the living room, Sunday in the kitchen, Sunday in the woodshed, Sunday down the road in the village: I hear the bells, calling me to share God’s grace.
E. B. WHITE






