A writer’s style reveals something of his spirit, his habits, his capacites, his bias…it is the Self escaping into the open.
E. B. WHITEChildren 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.
More E. B. White Quotes
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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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I get up every morning determined to both change the world and to have one hell of a good time. Sometimes, this makes planning the day difficult.
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Never hurry and never worry!
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Before the seed there comes the thought of bloom.
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You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing. I wove my webs for you because I liked you. After all, what’s a life, anyway?
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A poem compresses much in a small space and adds music, thus heightening its meaning.
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I am still encouraged to go on. I wouldn’t know where else to go.
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There is nothing harder to estimate than a writer’s time, nothing harder to keep track of. There are moments—moments of sustained creation—when his time is fairly valuable; and there are hours and hours when a writer’s time isn’t worth the paper he is not writing anything on.
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If a man is to be obsessed by something, I suppose a boat is as good as anything, perhaps a bit better than most.
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All that I hope to say in books, all that I ever hope to say, is that I love the world.
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Prejudice is a great time saver. You can form opinions without having to get the facts.
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And then, just as Wilbur was settling down for his morning nap, he heard again the thin voice that had addressed him the night before. “Salutations!” said the voice. Wilbur jumped to his feet. “Salu-what?” he cried. “Salutations!” repeated the voice.
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“What are they, and where are you?” screamed Wilbur. “Please, please, tell me where you are. And what are salutations?” “Salutations are greetings,” said the voice. “When I say ‘salutations,’ it’s just my fancy way of saying hello or good morning.
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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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The world is full of people who have never, since childhood, met an open doorway with an open mind.
E. B. WHITE