Mary Roberts Rinehart
Mary Roberts Rinehart
Mary Roberts Rinehartwas an American writer, often called the American Agatha Christie, although her first mystery novel was published 14 years before Christie's first novel in 1922...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth12 August 1876
CountryUnited States of America
horse children war
War is not two great armies meeting in the clash and frenzy of battle. War is a boy being carried on a stretcher, looking up at God’s blue sky with bewildered eyes that are soon to close; war is a woman carrying a child that has been injured by a shell; war is spirited horses tied in burning buildings and waiting for death; war is the flower of a race, battered, hungry, bleeding, up to its knees in filthy water; war is an old woman burning a candle before the Mater Dolorsa for the son she has given.
peace war hate
I hate those men who would send into war youth to fight and die for them; the pride and cowardice of those old men, making their wars that boys must die.
war fall son
War is a thing of fearful and curious anomalies ... It has shown that government by men only is not an appeal to reason, but an appeal to arms; that on women, without a voice to protest, must fall the burden. It is easier to die than to send a son to death.
war men may
Old men make wars that young men may die.
weapons world ridicule
The greatest weapon in the world ... is ridicule.
lasts firsts haste
the theater is the only money-making business I know in which haste apparently rules from first to last.
fall rain unjust
Suspicion is like the rain. It falls on the just and on the unjust.
curiosity unbearable hunger
There is a point at which curiosity becomes unbearable, when it becomes an obsession, like hunger.
courage men coward
It is only in his head that man is heroic; in the pit of his stomach he is always a coward.
essence essence-of-life conflict
Conflict is the very essence of life.
class hatred steps
From class consciousness to class hatred was but a step.
christmas heart might
Curious, how one remembered Christmas. Perhaps because other days might appeal to the head, but this one appealed to the heart.
boredom calm resurrection
the calm of a place like Bellwood is the peace of death without the hope of resurrection.
honest autobiography
there is no truly honest autobiography.