Nearly everybody in San Francisco writes poetry. Few San Franciscans would admit this, but most of them would rather like to have their productions accidentally discovered. — Stella Benson Copy Share Image
What is this Charity, this clinking of money between strangers, and when did Charity cease to be a comforting and secret thing between one… — Stella Benson Copy Share Image
“My love, I see you through my tears. No pity in your face I see. I have sailed far across the years; Stretch out,… — Stella Benson Copy Share Image
You want the vote so badly that you think it worth while to become hysterical over it.' 'There is not much hysteria in the… — Stella Benson Copy Share Image
“That sea - that mother of a million summers, Who bore, with melody, a million springs, Shall sing for my enchantment...” — Stella Benson Copy Share Image
“My soundless feet shall fly among the runners Through the red thunders of a Zeppelin raid, My still voice cheer the Anti-Aircraft gunners, The… — Stella Benson Copy Share Image
The more committees you belong to, the less of ordinary life you will understand. When your daily round becomes nothing more than a daily… — Stella Benson Copy Share Image
We travel because we do not know. We know that we do not know the best before we start. That is why we start.… — Stella Benson Copy Share Image
a committee, of course, exists for the purpose of damping enthusiasms. — Stella Benson Copy Share Image
There are some people who can never see a little cloud of fantasy float across the horizon of their dreams without building a heavy… — Stella Benson Copy Share Image
You can't discover one foot of clay on an idol without suspecting the other. — Stella Benson Copy Share Image
Family jokes, though rightly cursed by strangers, are the bond that keeps most families alive. — Stella Benson Copy Share Image
“I want to go out into the country, I want to thread the pale Spring air, and hear the lambs cry. I want to… — Stella Benson Copy Share Image
“Come home, come home, you million ghosts, The honest years shall make amends, The sun and moon shall be your hosts, The everlasting hills… — Stella Benson Copy Share Image
Man is potentially a son, and woman is potentially a mother; woman depends on the dependence of man. The spinster, if pathetic at all,… — Stella Benson Copy Share Image
