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.
E. B. WHITEIs there anything in the universe more beautiful and protective than the simple complexity of a spider’s web?
More E. B. White Quotes
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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.
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When you say something, make sure you have said it. The chances of your having said it are only fair.
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Writing is one way to go about thinking, and the practice and habit of writing not only drain the mind but supply it, too.
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When I get sick of what men do, I have only to walk a few steps in another direction to see what spiders do. Or what the weather does. This sustains me very well indeed.
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It can destroy an individual, or it can fulfill him, depending a good deal on luck.
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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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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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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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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.
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Well,” said Stuart, “a misspelled word is an abomination in the sight of everyone.
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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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Books hold most of the secrets of the world, most of the thoughts that men and women have had. And when you are reading a book, you and the author are alone together-just the two of you.
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Nationalism has two fatal charms for its devotees: It presupposes local self-sufficiency, which is a pleasant and desirable condition, and it suggests, very subtly, a certain personal superiority by reason of one’s belonging to a place which is definable and familiar, as against a place that is strange, remote.
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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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A good farmer is nothing more nor less than a handy man with a sense of humus.
E. B. WHITE