“From the ancient dwelling there came always a dignified, unobtrusive sadness; now stronger, now fainter,—like the aromatic smell which the dwarf cedars gave out in the sun,—but always present, a part of the air one breathed. At night, when Thea… — 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
