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.
E. B. WHITEA despot doesn’t fear eloquent writers preaching freedom- he fears a drunken poet who may crack a joke that will take hold.
More E. B. White Quotes
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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.
E. B. WHITE -
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.
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I believe in dreams. People should have faith in the songs poets sing.
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Well,” said Stuart, “a misspelled word is an abomination in the sight of everyone.
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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.
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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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Is there anything in the universe more beautiful and protective than the simple complexity of a spider’s web?
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A really companionable and indispensable dog is an accident of nature. You can’t get it by breeding for it, and you can’t buy it with money. It just happens along.
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Prejudice is a great time saver. You can form opinions without having to get the facts.
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Stuart rose from the ditch, climbed into his car, and started up the road that led toward the north…As he peeked ahead into the great land that stretched before him, the way seemed long. But the sky was bright, and he somehow felt he was headed in the right direction.
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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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All writing is communication; creative writing is communication through revelation-it is the Self-escaping into the open.
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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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Writing is an act of faith, not a trick of grammar.
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Be obscure clearly! Be wild of tongue in a way we can understand.
E. B. WHITE