Habitually creative people are prepared to be lucky.
E. B. WHITEThere’s no limit to how complicated things can get, on account of one thing always leading to another.
More E. B. White Quotes
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There is nothing harder to estimate than a writer’s time, nothing harder to keep track of. There are moments—moments of sustained creation—when his time is fairly valuable; and there are hours and hours when a writer’s time isn’t worth the paper he is not writing anything on.
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I don’t know which is more discouraging, literature or chickens.
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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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Geese are friends to no one, they bad mouth everybody and everything. But they are companionable once you get used to their ingratitude and false accusations.
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To achieve style, begin by affecting none.
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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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I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day.
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I believe in dreams. People should have faith in the songs poets sing.
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Fern was up at daylight, trying to rid the world of injustice. As a result, she now has a pig. A small one to be sure, but nevertheless a pig. It just shows what can happen if a person gets out of bed promptly.
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The whole problem is to establish communication with ones self.
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Nationalism has two fatal charms for its devotees: It presupposes local self-sufficiency, which is a pleasant and desirable condition, and it suggests, very subtly, a certain personal superiority by reason of one’s belonging to a place which is definable and familiar, as against a place that is strange, remote.
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An editor is a person who knows more about writing than writers do but who has escaped the terrible desire to write.
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Books 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.
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Oh, I never look under the hood.
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Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.
E. B. WHITE