Quote

Now's the time when children's noses All become as red as roses And the colour of their faces Makes me think of orchard places Where the juicy apples grow, And tomatoes in a row.

Katherine Mansfield

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Katherine Mansfield
Age: 34 †
Born: 1888
Born: October 14
Died: 1923
Died: January 9
Diarist
Poet
Writer
Wellington
New Zealand
Katherine Mansfield Beauchamp Murry
Kathleen Murry
Katherine Beauchamp Mansfield
Kathleen Mansfield Murry
Faces
Apples
Makes
Noses
Become
Colour
Children
Red
Juicy
Time
Rose
Orchard
Think
Places
Tomatoes
Thinking
Grow
October
Grows
Roses

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How idiotic civilization is! Why be given a body if you have to keep it shut up in a case like a rare, rare fiddle?
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The great thing to remember is we can do whatever we wish to do provided our wish is strong enough.
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The late evening is the time of times. Then with that unearthly beauty before one it is not hard to realise how far one has to go. To write something that will be worthy of that rising moon, that pale light.
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Better to write twaddle, anything, than nothing at all.
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What happiness it is to listen to rain at night joyful relief, ease a lapping-round and hushing and brooding tenderness, all are mingled together in the sound of the fast-falling rain. God, looking down upon the rainy earth, sees how faint are these lights shining in little windows, - how easily put out.
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Yes, my mother's death is a terrible sorrow to me. I feel - do you know what I mean - the silence of it so. She was more alive than anyone I have ever known.
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In the shortest sea voyage there is no sense of time. You have been down in the cabin for hours or days or years. Nobody knows or cares. You know all the people to the point of indifference. You do not believe in dry land any more - you are caught in the pendulum itself, and left there, idly swinging.
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There is no feeling to be compared with the feeling of having written and finished a story.
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Isn't life,' she stammered, 'isn't life--' But what life was she couldn't explain. No matter. He quite understood. 'Isn't it, darling?' said Laurie.
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If you wish to live, you must first attend your own funeral.
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Do you remember your childhood? I am always coming across these marvelous accounts by writers who declare that they remember 'everything.' I certainly don't. The dark stretches, the blanks, are much bigger than the bright glimpses. I seem to have spent most of my time like a plant in a cupboard.
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The mind I love must have wild places.
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You are a Queen. Let mine be the joy of giving you your kingdom.
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It's rather nice to think of oneself as a sailor bending over the map of one's mind and deciding where to go and how to go. The great thing to remember is we can do whatever we wish to do provided our wish is strong enough.
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I don't believe other people are ever as foolishly excited as I am while I'm working. How could they be? Writers would have to live in trees.
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Some couples go over their budgets very carefully every month. Others just go over them.
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I adore Life. What do all the fools matter and all the stupidity. They do matter but somehow for me they cannot touch the body of Life. Life is marvellous. I want to be deeply rooted in it - to live - to expand - to breathe in it - to rejoice - to share it. To give and to be asked for Love.
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I saw myself driving through Eternity in a timeless taxi.
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There are always these moments in life when the limits of suffering are reached and we become heroes and heroines.
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Warm, eager, living life-to be rooted in life-to learn, to desire, to know, to feel, to think, to act. This is what I want. And nothing less. That is what I must try for.
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