Life’s meaning has always eluded me and I guess always will. But I love it just the same.
E. B. WHITEWe’re born, we live a little while, we die. A spider’s life can’t help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone’s life can stand a little of that.
More E. B. White Quotes
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There is nothing more likely to start disagreement among people or countries than an agreement.
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I am reminded of the advice of my neighbor. “Never worry about your heart till it stops beating.
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One of the most time-consuming things is to have an enemy.
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Trust me, Wilbur. People are very gullible. They’ll believe anything they see in print.
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I have noticed that most men when they enter a barber shop and must wait their turn, drop into a chair and pick up a magazine. I simply sit down and pick up the thread of my sea wanderings, which began more than fifty years ago and is not quite ended.
E. B. WHITE -
We’re born, we live a little while, we die. A spider’s life can’t help being something of a mess, with all this trapping and eating flies. By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone’s life can stand a little of that.
E. B. WHITE -
The whole problem is to establish communication with ones self.
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Mother: It’s broccoli, dear. — Child: I say it’s spinach, and I say the hell with it.
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I admire anybody who has the guts to write anything at all.
E. B. WHITE -
“What’s miraculous about a spider’s web?” said Mrs. Arable. “I don’t see why you say a web is a miracle–it’s just a web.” “Ever try to spin one?” asked Mr. Dorian.
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Before the seed there comes the thought of bloom.
E. B. WHITE -
The rat had no morals, no conscience, no scruples, no consideration, no decency, no milk of rodent kindness, no compunctions, no higher feeling, no friendliness, no anything
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Writing is an act of faith, not a trick of grammar.
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A writer’s style reveals something of his spirit, his habits, his capacites, his bias…it is the Self escaping into the open.
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I don’t know which is more discouraging, literature or chickens.
E. B. WHITE