I am often mad, but I would hate to be nothing but mad: and I think I would lose what little value I may have as a writer if I were to refuse, as a matter of principle, to accept the warming rays of the sun, and to report them, whenever, and if ever, they
E. B. WHITEHabitually creative people are prepared to be lucky.
More E. B. White Quotes
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A writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting a word to paper.
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No one can write decently who is distrustful of the reader’s intelligence or whose attitude is patronizing.
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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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English usage is sometimes more than mere taste, judgment and education – sometimes it’s sheer luck, like getting across the street.
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Good deeds never go unpunished.
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A really companionable and indispensable dog is an accident of nature. You can’t get it by breeding for it, and you can’t buy it with money. It just happens along.
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Every morning I awake torn between a desire to save the world and an inclination to savor it. This makes it hard to plan the day. But if we forget to savor the world, what possible reason do we have for saving it? In a way, the savoring must come first.
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Children are game for anything. I throw them hard words, and they backhand them over the net. They love words that give them a hard time, provided they are in a context that absorbs their attention.
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It is quite possible that an animal has spoken to me and that I didn’t catch the remark because I wasn’t paying attention.
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Before the seed there comes the thought of bloom.
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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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A candidate could easily commit political suicide if he were to come up with an unconventional thought during a presidential tour.
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Understanding humor is like dissecting a live frog. It can be done, but the frog tends to die in the process.
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Well,” said Stuart, “a misspelled word is an abomination in the sight of everyone.
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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