Willa Cather
Willa Cather
Willa Sibert Catherwas an American author who achieved recognition for her novels of frontier life on the Great Plains, including O Pioneers!, The Song of the Lark, and My Ántonia. In 1923 she was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for One of Ours, a novel set during World War I...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth7 December 1873
CountryUnited States of America
loved loves shut
Where are the loves that we have loved beforeWhen once we are alone, and shut the door?
human shadow universal yearning
The universal human yearning for something permanent, enduring, without shadow of change.
among kindness manner people seen uneasy
He had the uneasy manner of a man who is not among his own kind, and who has not seen enough of the world to feel that all people are in some sense his own kind
felt named page whatever
Whatever is felt upon the page without being specifically named there -- that, we may say, is created.
ruined publishers
Most publishers, like most writers, are ruined by their successes.
sports mean tiny
Every American travelling in England gets his own individual sport out of the toy passenger and freight trains and the tiny locomotives, with their faint, indignant, tiny whistle. Especially in western England one wonders how the business of a nation can possibly be carried on by means so insufficient.
two ifs
I wondered if the life that was right for one was ever right for two!
mad littles twenties
It is scarcely exaggeration to say that if one is not a little mad about Balzac at twenty, one will never live; and if at forty one can still take Rastignac and Lucien de Rubempre at Balzac's own estimate, one has lived in vain.
snakes bigs fellows
I had killed a big snake. I was now a big fellow.
stupid should teach
Only the stupid and the phlegmatic should teach.
dog fire dread
A burnt dog dreads the fire.
way pity masters
Pity is sworn servant unto love: And this be sure, wherever it begin To make the way, it lets your master in.
wall failure cutting
It is a tragic hour, that hour when we are finally driven to reckon with ourselves, when every avenue of mental distraction has been cut off and our own life and all its ineffaceable failures closes about us like the walls of that old torture chamber of the Inquisition.
strong lying winning
For ever and anon the soul becomes weary of the conventions that are not of it, and with a single stroke shatters the civilized lies with which it is unable to cope, and the strong arm reaches out and takes by force what it cannot win by cunning.