“Writing is hard work and bad for the health.”

Democracy is itself, a religious faith. For some it comes close to being the only formal religion they have.

Luck is not something you can mention in the presence of self-made men.

Reading is the work of the alert mind, is demanding, and under ideal conditions produces finally a sort of ecstasy.

Fern was up at daylight, trying to rid the world of injustice. As a result, she now has a pig. A small one to be sure, but nevertheless a pig. It just shows what can happen if a person gets out of bed promptly.

Understanding humor is like dissecting a live frog. It can be done, but the frog tends to die in the process.

Always be on the lookout for the presence of wonder.

In a free country it is the duty of writers to pay no attention to duty.

A candidate could easily commit political suicide if he were to come up with an unconventional thought during a presidential tour.

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

In every queen there’s a touch of floozy.

Wilbur never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders ever quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.

Old age is a special problem for me because I’ve never been able to shed the mental image I have of myself – a lad of about 19.

Good deeds never go unpunished.

The rat had no morals, no conscience, no scruples, no consideration, no decency, no milk of rodent kindness, no compunctions, no higher feeling, no friendliness, no anything

“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.

Life is like writing with a pen. You can cross out your past but you can’t erase it.

Changing your nature is the hardest thing to do. But I discovered that you can be who you choose to be.

This is the hardest part for me. Just the waiting – the waiting to fight. The work has all been done, and you just have to wait.

Do you know what is the hardest thing in life? To make a choice.

When I went to jail, reality hit so hard that it took my breath away, took my stance away, took my strength away. I was there buck naked, humiliated, sitting in my own crap and urine – this is a metaphor. My ego had run off. Your ego is the biggest coward.

Nothing dies so hard, or rallies so often as intolerance.

I’m not sure why writing for others became harder. Probably a reluctance to give away anything you might conceivably use yourself caused a block. I did it, but it remained hard when it had once been easy.

You dont know how hard it was for me to take you and leave them alive.

Wilderness is harder and harder to find these days on this beautiful planet, and we’re abusing our planet to the point of almost no return.