It is Sunday, mid-morning-Sunday in the living room, Sunday in the kitchen, Sunday in the woodshed, Sunday down the road in the village: I hear the bells, calling me to share God’s grace.
E. B. WHITEWe should all do what, in the long run, gives us joy, even if it is only picking grapes or sorting the laundry.
More E. B. White Quotes
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Never hurry and never worry!
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I believe in dreams. People should have faith in the songs poets sing.
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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.
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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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Books hold most of the secrets of the world, most of the thoughts that men and women have had. And when you are reading a book, you and the author are alone together-just the two of you.
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Make the work interesting and the discipline will take care of itself.
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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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When an American family becomes separated from its toothbrushes and combs and pajamas for a few hours it considers that it has had quite an adventure.
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Children 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.
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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
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Well,” said Stuart, “a misspelled word is an abomination in the sight of everyone.
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The whole problem is to establish communication with ones self.
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Geese are friends to no one, they bad mouth everybody and everything. But they are companionable once you get used to their ingratitude and false accusations.
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Prejudice is a great time saver. You can form opinions without having to get the facts.
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Good deeds never go unpunished.
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Extreme cold when it first arrives seems to generate cheerfulness and sociability. For a few hours all life’s dubious problems are dropped in favor of the clear and congenial task of keeping alive.
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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?
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Habitually creative people are prepared to be lucky.
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Television will enormously enlarge the eye’s range, and, like radio, will advertise the Elsewhere. Together with the tabs, the mags, and the movies, it will insist that we forget the primary and the near in favor of the secondary and the remote.
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I am reminded of the advice of my neighbor. “Never worry about your heart till it stops beating.
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Why did you do all this for me?’ he asked. ‘I don’t deserve it. I’ve never done anything for you.’ ‘You have been my friend,’ replied Charlotte. ‘That in itself is a tremendous thing.
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Luck is not something you can mention in the presence of self-made men.
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Oh, I never look under the hood.
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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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I have one share in corporate Earth, and I am nervous about the management.
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I see nothing in space as promising as the view from a Ferris wheel.
E. B. WHITE