Writing is both mask and unveiling.
E. B. WHITEBooks hold most of the secrets of the world, most of the thoughts that men and women have had. And when you are reading a book, you and the author are alone together-just the two of you.
More E. B. White Quotes
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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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Writing is one way to go about thinking, and the practice and habit of writing not only drain the mind but supply it, too.
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Television will enormously enlarge the eye’s range, and, like radio, will advertise the Elsewhere. Together with the tabs, the mags, and the movies, it will insist that we forget the primary and the near in favor of the secondary and the remote.
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I’ve got a new friend, all right. But what a gamble friendship is! Charlotte is fierce, brutal, scheming, bloodthirsty-everything I don’t like. How can I learn to like her, even though she is pretty and, of course, clever?
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Old age is a special problem for me because I’ve never been able to shed the mental image I have of myself – a lad of about 19.
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There’s no limit to how complicated things can get, on account of one thing always leading to another.
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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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All that I hope to say in books, all that I ever hope to say, is that I love the world.
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Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder.
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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.
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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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Be obscure clearly! Be wild of tongue in a way we can understand.
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Is there anything in the universe more beautiful and protective than the simple complexity of a spider’s web?
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And then, just as Wilbur was settling down for his morning nap, he heard again the thin voice that had addressed him the night before. “Salutations!” said the voice. Wilbur jumped to his feet. “Salu-what?” he cried. “Salutations!” repeated the voice.
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Good deeds never go unpunished.
E. B. WHITE