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. WHITEI have one share in corporate Earth, and I am nervous about the management.
More E. B. White Quotes
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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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Is there anything in the universe more beautiful and protective than the simple complexity of a spider’s web?
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The whole problem is to establish communication with ones self.
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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.
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Loneliness is a strange gift.
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Prejudice is a great time saver. You can form opinions without having to get the facts.
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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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Make the work interesting and the discipline will take care of itself.
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Television will enormously enlarge the eye’s range, and, like radio, will advertise the Elsewhere. Together with the tabs, the mags, and the movies, it will insist that we forget the primary and the near in favor of the secondary and the remote.
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Creation is in part merely the business of forgoing the great and small distractions.
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I am always humbled by the infite ingenuity of the Lord, who can make a red barn cast a blue shadow.
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Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.
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Nauseous. Nauseated. The first means “sickening to contemplate”; the second means “sick at the stomach.” Do not, therefore, say “I feel nauseous,” unless you are sure you have that effect on others.
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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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A writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting a word to paper.
E. B. WHITE