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Life’s meaning has always eluded me and I guess always will. But I love it just the same.

E. B. White

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.
E. B. WHITE

Estimate Harder Keep Nothing Of Time Track
The world is full of people who have never, since childhood, met an open doorway with an open mind.
E. B. WHITE

Childhood Doorway Full Met Mind Open People Since World
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.
E. B. WHITE

Arise Between Desire Enjoy Morning World
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.
E. B. WHITE

Anything Background Children Game Hand Net Over Them Throw Word
Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.
E. B. WHITE

Another Day Hang Hat Hope Tomorrow Wind
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.
E. B. WHITE

Bad Companionable Everybody Everything Friend Geese Get Mouth Use
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

Anyone Born Eating Heaven Help Little Perhaps Something
The whole problem is to establish communication with ones self.
E. B. WHITE

Communication Establish One Problem Self Whole
In every queen there’s a touch of floozy.
E. B. WHITE

Every Queen Floozy Touch
Mother: It’s broccoli, dear. — Child: I say it’s spinach, and I say the hell with it.
E. B. WHITE

Broccoli Child Hell Mother Say Spinach
“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.
E. B. WHITE

Fancy Good Morning Salutation Scream What
A good farmer is nothing more nor less than a handy man with a sense of humus.
E. B. WHITE

Good Handy Humus Less More Nothing Sense Than Time
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.
E. B. WHITE

Kitchen Living Morning Room Sunday Woodshed
Sailors have an expression about the weather: they say the weather is a great bluffer. I guess the same is true of our human society – things can look dark, then a break shows in the clouds, and all is changed.
E. B. WHITE

Bluffer Expression Great Guess Human Sailor Same Society True Weather
Writing is hard work and bad for the health.
E. B. WHITE

Bad Hard Health Work Writing
Oh, I never look under the hood.
E. B. WHITE

Hood never Took Under

Life’s meaning has always eluded me and I guess always will. But I love it just the same.

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Life’s meaning has always eluded me and I guess always will. But I love it just the same.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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