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we cling to our last pleasures as the tree clings to its last leaves.

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
Pleasure
Lasts
Last
Clings
Cling
Pleasures
Leaves
Tree

More quotes by Katherine Mansfield

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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.
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Whatever happens I have had these blissful, perfect moments and they are worth living for.
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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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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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I want to be all that I am capable of becoming.
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Could we change our attitude, we should not only see life differently, but life itself would come to be different.
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I'm a writer first and a woman after.
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I feel I must live alone, alone, alone - with artists only to touch the door. Every artist cuts off his ear and nails it on the outside of the door for the others to shout into.
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My love for you tonight is so deep and tender that it seems to be outside myself as well.
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I saw myself driving through Eternity in a timeless taxi.
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Everything in life that we really accept undergoes a change.
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Who is to decide between 'Let it be' and 'Force it'?
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That's all life is - something childish and very natural. Isn't it?
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It is of immense importance to learn to laugh at ourselves.
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In the woods where snow is thick, bars of sunlight lay like pale fire.
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I love the night. I love to feel the tide of darkness rising, slowly and slowly washing, turning over and over, lifting, floating, all that lies strewn upon the dark beach, all that lies hid in rocky hollows.
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To long for everything: sorrow to accept everything: joy.
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I want, by understanding myself, to understand others. I want to be all that I am capable of becoming.... This all sounds very strenuous and serious. But now that I have wrestled with it, it's no longer so. I feel happy- deep down. All is well.
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It's a terrible thing to be alone - yes it is - it is - but don't lower your mask until you have another mask prepared beneath - as terrible as you like - but a mask.
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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.
Katherine Mansfield