“One evening in one of those Over-the-Rhine cafes which were plentiful along Vine Street of the Cincinnati of the nineties, a traveling salesman leaned across his stein of Moerlein's Extra Light and openly accused Ray Schmidt of being innocent.” — Fannie Hurst Copy Share Image
Oh - oh, why is it that the members of a family feel privileged to treat one another with a cruelty they would not… — Fannie Hurst Copy Share Image
Crushed to earth and rising again is an author's gymnastic. Once he fails to struggle to his feet and grab his pen, he will… — Fannie Hurst Copy Share Image
It would be a fallacy to deduce that the slow writer necessarily comes up with superior work. There seems to be scant relationshipbetween prolificness… — Fannie Hurst Copy Share Image
Any writer worth the name is always getting into one thing or getting out of another thing. — Fannie Hurst Copy Share Image
The literary wiseacres prognosticate in many languages, as they have throughout so many centuries, setting the stage for new hautmonde in letters and making… — Fannie Hurst Copy Share Image
A woman is not a whole woman without the experience of marriage. In the case of a bad marriage, you win if you lose.… — Fannie Hurst Copy Share Image
The grand canyon which yawns between the writer's concept of what he wants to capture in words and what comes through is a cruel… — Fannie Hurst Copy Share Image
Charm is an odorless perfume, which cannot be anchored in the chemists' test tube. It is a permeation, a radiation. It emanates from the… — Fannie Hurst Copy Share Image
writing is the loneliest job in the world. There's always that frustrating chasm to bridge between the concept and the writing of it. We're… — Fannie Hurst Copy Share Image
