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. WHITEBooks 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.
More E. B. White Quotes
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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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The city that is devoured by locusts each day and spat out each night. Third, there is the New York of the person who was born somewhere else and came to New York in quest of something.
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The main thing I try to do is write as clearly as I can. I rewrite a good deal to make it clear.
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In a free country it is the duty of writers to pay no attention to duty.
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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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You’re terrific as far as I am concerned.
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Prejudice is a great time saver. You can form opinions without having to get the facts.
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Democracy is itself, a religious faith. For some it comes close to being the only formal religion they have.
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Mother: It’s broccoli, dear. — Child: I say it’s spinach, and I say the hell with it.
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Loneliness is a strange gift.
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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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Understanding humor is like dissecting a live frog. It can be done, but the frog tends to die in the process.
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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.
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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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An editor is a person who knows more about writing than writers do but who has escaped the terrible desire to write.
E. B. WHITE