A good farmer is nothing more nor less than a handy man with a sense of humus.
E. B. WHITE“What are they, and where are you?” screamed Wilbur. “Please, please, tell me where you are. And what are salutations?” “Salutations are greetings,” said the voice. “When I say ‘salutations,’ it’s just my fancy way of saying hello or good morning.
More E. B. White Quotes
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It can destroy an individual, or it can fulfill him, depending a good deal on luck.
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A poet’s pleasure is to withhold a little of his meaning, to intensify by mystification. He unzips the veil from beauty, but does not remove it.
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When an American family becomes separated from its toothbrushes and combs and pajamas for a few hours it considers that it has had quite an adventure.
E. B. WHITE -
Make the work interesting and the discipline will take care of itself.
E. B. WHITE -
Life’s meaning has always eluded me and I guess always will. But I love it just the same.
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Democracy is the recurrent suspicion that more than half of the people are right more than half of the time.
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People are, if anything, more touchy about being thought silly than they are about being thought unjust.
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Wilbur never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders ever quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.
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Everything in life is somewhere else, and you get there in a car.
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If a man is to be obsessed by something, I suppose a boat is as good as anything, perhaps a bit better than most.
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Reading is the work of the alert mind, is demanding, and under ideal conditions produces finally a sort of ecstasy.
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The essayist is a self-liberated man, sustained by the childish belief that everything he thinks about, everything that happens to him, is of general interest.
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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.
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Semi-colons only prove that the author has been to college.
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There are roughly three New Yorks. There is, first, the New York of the man or woman who was born here, who takes the city for granted and accepts its size and its turbulence as natural and inevitable. Second, there is the New York of the commuter.
E. B. WHITE