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Curious, how one remembered Christmas. Perhaps because other days might appeal to the head, but this one appealed to the heart.
Mary Roberts Rinehart
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Mary Roberts Rinehart
Age: 82 †
Born: 1876
Born: August 12
Died: 1958
Died: September 22
Journalist
Novelist
Nurse
Poet
Screenwriter
Writer
Pittsburg
Pennsylvania
Mary Rinehart
Heart
Appeals
Remembered
Christmas
Curious
Perhaps
Head
Days
Appealed
Might
Appeal
More quotes by Mary Roberts Rinehart
There is a point at which curiosity becomes unbearable, when it becomes an obsession, like hunger.
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It was said of Miss Letitia that when money came into her possession it went out of circulation.
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A little work, a little sleep, a little love and it's all over.
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having considerable mind, changing it became almost as ponderous an operation as moving a barn, although not nearly so stable.
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pretense is the oil that lubricates society.
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From class consciousness to class hatred was but a step.
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Conflict is the very essence of life.
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Enemies are an indication of character.
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A cat and a Bible, and nobody needs to be lonely.
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Of one thing the reader can be certain: the more easily anything reads, the harder it has been to write.
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Peace is not a passive but an active condition, not a negation but an affirmation.
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There is nothing for the modern man or woman to fear about most cases of cancer. Nothing except delay.
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It takes a good many years and some pretty hard knocks to make people tolerant.
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The author lives with one foot in an everyday world and the other feeling about anxiously for a foothold in another more precarious one.
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When a great burden is lifted, the relief is not always felt at once. The galled places still ache.
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the theater is the only money-making business I know in which haste apparently rules from first to last.
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Suspicion is like the rain. It falls on the just and on the unjust.
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People that trust themselves a dozen miles from the city, in strange houses, with servants they don't know, needn't be surprised if they wake up some morning and find their throats cut.
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Men... look back on the children who were once themselves, and attempt to reconstruct them. But they can no longer think like the child.
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[On fishing:] Greatest rest in the world for the brain.
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