Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen. — Willa Cather Copy Share Image
Our tree became the talking tree of the fairy tale; legends and stories nestled like birds in its branches. — Willa Cather Copy Share Image
“The glorious transmutation of autumn had come on: all the vast Canadian shores were clothed with a splendour never seen in France;… — Willa Cather Copy Share Image
“The wild roses were wide open and brilliant, the blue-eyed grass was in purple flower, and the silvery milkweed was just coming… — Willa Cather Copy Share Image
On the farm the weather was the great fact, and men's affairs went on underneath it, as the streams creep under the… — Willa Cather Copy Share Image
“... the wind sprang up afresh, with a kind of bitter song, as if it said: "This is reality, whether you like… — Willa Cather Copy Share Image
There was only - spring itself, the throb of it, the light restlessness, the vital essence of it everywhere; in the sky,… — Willa Cather Copy Share Image
The air and the earth interpenetrated in the warm gusts of spring; the soil was full of sunlight, and the sunlight full… — Willa Cather Copy Share Image
“After that hard winter, one could not get enough of the nimble air. Every morning I wakened with a fresh consciousness that… — Willa Cather Copy Share Image
“The pale, cold light of the winter sunset did not beautify - it was like the light of truth itself. When the… — Willa Cather Copy Share Image
“While the train flashed through never-ending miles of ripe wheat, by country towns and bright-flowered pastures and oak groves wilting in the… — Willa Cather Copy Share Image
“Carl sat musing until the sun leaped above the prairie, and in the grass about him all the small creatures of day… — Willa Cather Copy Share Image
He domesticated and developed the native wild flowers. He had one hill-side solidly clad with that low-growing purple verbena which mats over… — Willa Cather Copy Share Image
Of all the bewildering things about a new country, the absence of human landmarks is one of the most depressing and disheartening. — Willa Cather Copy Share
Success is less interesting than struggle. There is great pleasure in the effort. — Willa Cather Copy Share
“I only knew the schoolbooks said he "died in the wilderness, of a broken heart." "More than him has done that," said Antonia sadly,… — Willa Cather Copy Share
"More than him has done that," said Antonia sadly, and the girls murmured assent. — Willa Cather Copy Share
Nothing mattered ... but writing books, and living the kind of life that made it possible to write them. — Willa Cather Copy Share
“Money and office and success are the consolations of impotence. Fortune turns kind to such solid people and lets them suck their bone in… — Willa Cather Copy Share
But she still had that something which fires the imagination, could still stop one's breath for a moment by a look or gesture that… — Willa Cather Copy Share
“You remember how homesick I used to get, and what long talks we used to have coming from school? We've someway always felt alike… — Willa Cather Copy Share
“He placed this book in my grandmother's hands, looked at her entreatingly, and said, with an earnestness which I shall never forget, "Te-e-ach, te-e-ach… — Willa Cather Copy Share
The sincerity of feeling that is possible between a writer and a reader is one of the finest things I know. — Willa Cather Copy Share
One realizes that human relationships are the tragic necessity of human life; that they can never be wholly satisfactory, that every ego is half… — Willa Cather Copy Share
Our tree became the talking tree of the fairy tale; legends and stories nestled like birds in its branches. — Willa Cather Copy Share
“Isn’t it queer: there are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never… — Willa Cather Copy Share
