I am always humbled by the infite ingenuity of the Lord, who can make a red barn cast a blue shadow.
E. B. WHITEA candidate could easily commit political suicide if he were to come up with an unconventional thought during a presidential tour.
More E. B. White Quotes
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No one can write decently who is distrustful of the reader’s intelligence or whose attitude is patronizing.
E. B. WHITE -
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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The main thing I try to do is write as clearly as I can. I rewrite a good deal to make it clear.
E. B. WHITE -
I believe in dreams. People should have faith in the songs poets sing.
E. B. WHITE -
The world is full of people who have never, since childhood, met an open doorway with an open mind.
E. B. WHITE -
No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky.
E. B. WHITE -
I’ve got a new friend, all right. But what a gamble friendship is! Charlotte is fierce, brutal, scheming, bloodthirsty-everything I don’t like. How can I learn to like her, even though she is pretty and, of course, clever?
E. B. WHITE -
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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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.
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A poet dares be just so clear and no clearer… He unzips the veil from beauty, but does not remove it. A poet utterly clear is a trifle glaring.
E. B. WHITE -
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 -
The best writing is rewriting.
E. B. WHITE -
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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Reading is the work of the alert mind, is demanding, and under ideal conditions produces finally a sort of ecstasy.
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“What’s miraculous about a spider’s web?” said Mrs. Arable. “I don’t see why you say a web is a miracle–it’s just a web.” “Ever try to spin one?” asked Mr. Dorian.
E. B. WHITE