Life is like writing with a pen. You can cross out your past but you can’t erase it.
E. B. WHITEThe 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
More E. B. White Quotes
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Use the smallest word that does the job.
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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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Writing is hard work and bad for the health.
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Only a person who is congenially self-centered has the effrontery and the stamina to write essays
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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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Well,” said Stuart, “a misspelled word is an abomination in the sight of everyone.
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Writing is both mask and unveiling.
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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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All writing is communication; creative writing is communication through revelation-it is the Self-escaping into the open.
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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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You can dissect a joke just as you can a frog. But it tends to die on you.
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The city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is the New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something.
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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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Early summer days are a jubilee time for birds. In the fields, around the house, in the barn, in the woods, in the swamp – everywhere love and songs and nests and eggs.
E. B. WHITE