The only places where American medicine can fully live up to its possibilities are the teaching hospitals.
BERNARD DEVOTOArt is man determined to die sane.
More Bernard DeVoto Quotes
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The trouble with the sacred Individual is that he has no significance, except as he can acquire it from others, from the social whole.
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History abhors determinism but cannot tolerate chance.
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New England is a finished place. Its destiny is that of Florence or Venice, not Milan while the American empire careens onward toward its unpredicted end. . . .
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The parks preserve it permanently in the inheritance of the American citizens.
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The dawn of knowledge is usually the false dawn.
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This is the violet hour, the hour of hush and wonder, when the affectations glow and valor is reborn, when the shadows deepen along the edge of the forest and we believe that, if we watch carefully, at any moment we may see the unicorn.
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It is the first American section to be finished to achieve stability in the conditions of its life. It is the first old civilization, the first permanent civilization in America.
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The rat stops gnawing in the wood, the dungeon walls withdraw, the weight is lifted your pulse steadies and the sun has found your heart, the day was not bad, the season has not been bad, there is sense and even promise in going on.
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The skillful man is, within the function of his skill, a different psychological organization. . . . A tennis player or a watchmaker or an airplane pilot is an automatism but he is also criticism and wisdom.
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Between the amateur and the professional . . . there is a difference not only in degree but in kind.
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When evening quickens in the street, comes a pause in the day’s occupation that is known as the cocktail hour.
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The West begins where the average annual rainfall drops below twenty inches. When you reach the line which marks that drop – for convenience, the one hundredth meridian – you have reached the West.
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The heart wakens from coma and its dyspnea ends. Its strengthening pulse is to cross over into campground, to believe that the world has not been altogether lost or, if lost, then not altogether in vain.
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A novelist has mad a fictional representation of life. I doing so, he has revealed to us more significance, it may be, than he could find in life itself.
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Art is the terms of an armistice signed with fate.
BERNARD DEVOTO