Trust me, Wilbur. People are very gullible. They’ll believe anything they see in print.
E. B. WHITEWilbur never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders ever quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.
More E. B. White Quotes
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If a man is to be obsessed by something, I suppose a boat is as good as anything, perhaps a bit better than most.
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A poem compresses much in a small space and adds music, thus heightening its meaning.
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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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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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There is hardly a waiting room in the east that has not served as my cockpit, whether I was waiting to board a train or to see a dentist. And I am usually still trimming sheets when the train starts or drill begins to whine.
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You’re terrific as far as I am concerned.
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Why did you do all this for me?’ he asked. ‘I don’t deserve it. I’ve never done anything for you.’ ‘You have been my friend,’ replied Charlotte. ‘That in itself is a tremendous thing.
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Everything in life is somewhere else, and you get there in a car.
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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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People are, if anything, more touchy about being thought silly than they are about being thought unjust.
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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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Mother: It’s broccoli, dear. — Child: I say it’s spinach, and I say the hell with it.
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Salutations; it’s just my fancy way of saying hello or good morning
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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
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Well,” said Stuart, “a misspelled word is an abomination in the sight of everyone.
E. B. WHITE