Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings
Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings
Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings was an American author who lived in rural Florida and wrote novels with rural themes and settings. Her best known work, The Yearling, about a boy who adopts an orphaned fawn, won a Pulitzer Prize for fiction in 1939 and was later made into a movie of the same name. The book was written long before the concept of young-adult fiction, but is now commonly included in teen-reading lists...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionAuthor
Date of Birth8 August 1896
CountryUnited States of America
You can't change a man, no-ways. By the time his mummy turns him loose and he takes up with some innocent woman and marries her, he's what he is.
I can only tell you that when long soul-searching and a combination of circumstances delivered me of my last prejudices, there was an exalted sense of liberation. It was not the Negro who became free, but I.
...a pie so delicate, so luscious, that I hope to be propped up on my dying bed and fed a generous portion. Then I think that I should refuse outright to die, for life would be too good to relinquish.
The individual man is transitory, but the pulse of life and of growth goes on after he is gone, buried under a wreath of magnolia leaves.
Words began fights and words ended them.
He who tries to forget a woman, never loved her
people in general are totally unable to detach the personality of a writer from the products of his thinking.
Personal publicity is apt to be dangerous to any writer's integrity; for the moment he begins to fancy himself as quite a person, a taint creeps into his work.
When a wave of love takes over a human being... such an exaltation takes him that he knows he has put his finger on the pulse of the great secret and the great answer.
Sorrow was like the wind. It came in gusts.
Living was no longer the grief behind him, but the anxiety ahead.
Ants in the house seem to be, not intruders, but the owners.
A dead tree, falling, made less havoc than a live one. It seemed as though a live tree went down fighting, like an animal.
Somewhere beyond the sink-hole, past the magnolia, under the live oaks, a boy and a yearling ran side by side, and were gone forever.