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.
E. B. WHITELife is like writing with a pen. You can cross out your past but you can’t erase it.
More E. B. White Quotes
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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 -
“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.
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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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The rat had no morals, no conscience, no scruples, no consideration, no decency, no milk of rodent kindness, no compunctions, no higher feeling, no friendliness, no anything
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Never hurry and never worry!
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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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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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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 -
Well,” said Stuart, “a misspelled word is an abomination in the sight of everyone.
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I admire anybody who has the guts to write anything at all.
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Writing is an act of faith, not a trick of grammar.
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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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Trust me, Wilbur. People are very gullible. They’ll believe anything they see in print.
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In every queen there’s a touch of floozy.
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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