Quote

I think I hate snow, downright hate it. There is something stupefying in it, a kind of 'You must be worse before you're better,' and down it spins.

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
Something
Downright
Think
Snow
Thinking
Winter
Worse
Hate
Better
Must
Stupefying
Kind
Spins

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If only one could tell true love from false love as one can tell mushrooms from toadstools.
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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 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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The truth is that every true admirer of the novels cherishes the happy thought that he alone - reading between the lines - has bcome the secret friend of their author.
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I saw myself driving through Eternity in a timeless taxi.
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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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Life never become a habit to me. It's always a marvel.
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I'm a writer first and a woman after.
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Better to write twaddle, anything, than nothing at all.
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Make it a rule of life never to regret and never to look back. Regret is an appalling waste of energy, you can't build on it it's only good for wallowing in.
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Looking back, I imagine I was always writing. Twaddle it was too. But better far write twaddle or anything, anything, than nothing at all.
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I want to be all that I am capable of becoming.
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England is merely an island of beef swimming in a warm gulf stream of gravy.
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You are a Queen. Let mine be the joy of giving you your kingdom.
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Winter is a terrible time for thin people - terrible! Why should it hound them down, fasten on them, worry them so? Why not, for a change, take a nip, take a snap at the fat ones who wouldn't notice? But no! It is sleek, warm, cat-like summer that makes the fat one's life a misery. Winter is all for bones.
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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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I am a recluse at present & do nothing but write & read & read & write
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Ach, Tchekov! Why are you dead? Why can’t I talk to you in a big darkish room at late evening—where the light is green from the waving trees outside? I’d like to write a series of Heavens: that would be one.
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Courage is like a disobedient dog, once it starts running away it flies all the faster for your attempts to recall it.
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How hard it is to escape from places. However carefully one goes they hold you — you leave little bits of yourself fluttering on the fences — like rags and shreds of your very life.
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