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E. B. White

Writing is one way to go about thinking, and the practice and habit of writing not only drain the mind but supply it, too.
E. B. WHITE

Practice Silly Think Thought Unjust Way Write
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.
E. B. WHITE

Charm Condition Desirable Devotees Fatal Local Nationalism Prepossess Self Sufficiency Two
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
E. B. WHITE

Compunction Conscience Consideration Decency Kindness Milk Moral Rat Rodent Scruples
Creation is in part merely the business of forgoing the great and small distractions.
E. B. WHITE

Business Creation Distraction Forgiving Great Merely Part Small
Most people think of peace as a state of Nothing Bad Happening, or Nothing Much Happening. Yet if peace is to overtake us and make us the gift of serenity and well-being, it will have to be the state of Something Good Happening.
E. B. WHITE

Bad Happen Happening Most Much Nothing Peace People State Think
Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.
E. B. WHITE

Another Day Hang Hat Hope Tomorrow Wind
Reading is the work of the alert mind, is demanding, and under ideal conditions produces finally a sort of ecstasy.
E. B. WHITE

Alert Condition Demand Finally Ideal Mind Produce Read Sort Under Work
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

Blood Brutal Country Fierce Friend Friendship Gamble Now People Person Right Thirsty
It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer.
E. B. WHITE

Along Come Fiend Good Someone True Writer
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.
E. B. WHITE

Childish Essayist Everything Happen Liberate Self Sustain Think
The whole duty of a writer is to please and satisfy himself, and the true writer always plays to an audience of one.
E. B. WHITE

Audience Duty Himself True One Play Pleasure Satisfy Whole Writer
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.
E. B. WHITE

Awake Born Desire Every Inclination Morning Save Savor World
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.
E. B. WHITE

Bright Feel Future Less Man More Nature Optimistic Outwit Prove Spent Time
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.
E. B. WHITE

Anyone Born Eating Heaven Help Little Perhaps Something
From morning till night, sounds drift from the kitchen, most of them familiar and comforting. . . . On days when warmth is the most important need of the human heart, the kitchen is the place you can find it; it dries the wet sock, it cools the hot little brain.
E. B. WHITE

Comfort Familiar Kitchen Morning Most Night Sound Till
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
E. B. WHITE

Amd Lose Mad Nothing Often Think Winter

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