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. WHITEIt is quite possible that an animal has spoken to me and that I didn’t catch the remark because I wasn’t paying attention.
More E. B. White Quotes
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I don’t know which is more discouraging, literature or chickens.
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Trust me, Wilbur. People are very gullible. They’ll believe anything they see in print.
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The whole duty of a writer is to please and satisfy himself, and the true writer always plays to an audience of one.
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A poet’s pleasure is to withhold a little of his meaning, to intensify by mystification. He unzips the veil from beauty, but does not remove it.
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Never hurry and never worry!
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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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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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Genius is more often found in a cracked pot than in a whole one.
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There’s no limit to how complicated things can get, on account of one thing always leading to another.
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Creation is in part merely the business of forgoing the great and small distractions.
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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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We should all do what, in the long run, gives us joy, even if it is only picking grapes or sorting the laundry.
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No one can write decently who is distrustful of the reader’s intelligence or whose attitude is patronizing.
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Stuart rose from the ditch, climbed into his car, and started up the road that led toward the north…As he peeked ahead into the great land that stretched before him, the way seemed long. But the sky was bright, and he somehow felt he was headed in the right direction.
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I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit Nature and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority.
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Writing is hard work and bad for the health.
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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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A despot doesn’t fear eloquent writers preaching freedom- he fears a drunken poet who may crack a joke that will take hold.
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Life’s meaning has always eluded me and I guess always will. But I love it just the same.
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Books are good company, in sad times and happy times, for books are people– people who have managed to stay alive by hiding between the covers of a book.
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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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The whole problem is to establish communication with ones self.
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In every queen there’s a touch of floozy.
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The essayist is a self-liberated man, sustained by the childish belief that everything he thinks about, everything that happens to him, is of general interest.
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Make the work interesting and the discipline will take care of itself.
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A candidate could easily commit political suicide if he were to come up with an unconventional thought during a presidential tour.
E. B. WHITE