A good story is like a bitter pill, with the sugar coating inside of it.
O. HENRYYou can’t appreciate home till you’ve left it, money till it’s spent, your wife till she’s joined a woman’s club, nor Old Glory till you see it hanging on a broomstick on the shanty of a consul in a foreign town.
More O. Henry Quotes
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If man knew how women pass the time when they are alone, they’d never marry.
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It gives men courage and ambition and the nerve for anything. It has the colour of gold, is clear as a glass and shines after dark as if the sunshine were still in it.
O. HENRY -
It’s said that love makes the world go around. Let me tell you, the announcement lacks verification. It’s the wind from the dinner horn that does it.
O. HENRY -
She plucked from my lapel the invisible strand of lint (the universal act of woman to proclaim ownership).
O. HENRY -
If a person has lived through war, poverty and love, he has lived a full life.
O. HENRY -
There is a saying that no man has tasted the full flavor of life until he has known poverty, love, and war.
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What else can you expect from a town thats shut off from the world by the ocean on one side and New Jersey on the other?
O. HENRY -
Humans were denied the speech of animals. The only common ground of communication upon which dogs and men can get together is in fiction.
O. HENRY -
A story with a moral appended is like the bill of a mosquito. It bores you, and then injects a stinging drop to irritate your conscience.
O. HENRY -
Life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
O. HENRY -
Except in streetcars one should never be unnecessarily rude to a lady.
O. HENRY -
Broadway – the great sluice that washes out the dust of the gold-mines of Gotham.
O. HENRY -
Those whom we first love we seldom marry.
O. HENRY -
Each of us, when our day’s work is done, must seek our ideal, whether it be love or pinochle or lobster à la Newburg, or the sweet silence of the musty bookshelves.
O. HENRY -
When I see a shipwreck, I like to know what caused the disaster. I learned nothing but the glow that wrapped her face when the soup came. That’s the story.
O. HENRY