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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.

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
Light
Rising
Hard
Evening
Writing
Worthy
Something
Moon
Time
Late
Unearthly
Beauty
Realise
Times
Realising
Write
Pale

More quotes by Katherine Mansfield

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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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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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No, no the mind I love must still have wild places - a tangled orchard where dark damsons drop in the heavy grass, an overgrown litde wood, the chance of a snake or two (real snakes), a pool that nobody's fathomed the depth of, and paths threaded with those litde flowers planted by the wind.
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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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Whatever happens I have had these blissful, perfect moments and they are worth living for.
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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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You have never been curious about me you never wanted to explore my soul.
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Outside the sky is light with stars
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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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It is of immense importance to learn to laugh at ourselves.
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Can one do nothing for the dead? And for a long time the answer had been - Nothing!
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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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Who is to decide between 'Let it be' and 'Force it'?
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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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Wind moving through grass so that the grass quivers. This moves me with an emotion I don't even understand.
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we cling to our last pleasures as the tree clings to its last leaves.
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if one really does try to find out why it is that people don't leave each other, one discovers a mystery. It is because they can't they are bound. And nobody on earth knows what are the bonds that bind them except those two.
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I am a recluse at present & do nothing but write & read & read & write
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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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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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