Quote

Until the raw ingredients of a pudding make a pudding, I shall never believe that the raw material of sensation and thought can make a work of art without the cook's intervening.

Edith Wharton

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Edith Wharton
Age: 75 †
Born: 1862
Born: January 24
Died: 1937
Died: August 11
Novelist
Poet
Prosaist
Translator
Writer
New York City
New York
Edith Newbold Jones
Edith Newbold Jones Wharton
Shall
Pudding
Art
Sensation
Thought
Ingredients
Without
Sensations
Work
Cook
Believe
Cooks
Make
Material
Never
Materials
Intervening

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The taste of the usual was like cinders in his mouth, and there were moments when he felt as if he were being buried alive under his future.
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...and wondering where he had read that clever liars give details, but that the cleverest do not.
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I don't know that I should care for a man who made life easy I should want some one who made it interesting.
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She was not accustomed to taste the joys of solitude except in company.
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Half the trouble in life is caused by pretending there isn't any.
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It frightened him to think what must have gone to the making of her eyes.
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True originality consists not in a new manner but in a new vision. That new, that personal, vision is attained only by looking long enough at the object represented to make it the writer's own and the mind which would bring this secret gem to fruition must be able to nourish it with an accumulated wealth of knowledge and experience.
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She wondered if, when human souls try to get too near each other, they do not inevitably become mere blurs to each other's vision.
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Archer reddened to the temples but dared not move or speak: it was as if her words had been some rare butterfly that the least motion might drive off on startled wings, but that might gather a flock if it were left undisturbed.
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Inkstands and tea-cups are never as full as when one upsets them.
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Everybody who does anything at all does too much.
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Old age, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty breadth of the universe, old age flowing free with the delicious near-by freedom of death.
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I have drunk of the wine of life at last, I have known the thing best worth knowing, I have been warmed through and through, never to grow quite cold again till the end.
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Mothers and daughters are part of each other's consciousness, in different degrees and in a different way, but still with the mutual sense of something which has always been there. A real mother is just a habit of thought to her children.
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In the summer New York was the only place in which one could escape from New Yorkers.
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Life is made up of compromises.
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They are all alike you know. They hold their tongues for years and you think you're safe, but when the opportunity comes they remember everything.
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To visit Morocco is still like turning the pages of some illuminated Persian manuscript all embroidered with bright shapes and subtle lines.
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