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There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl.

O. Henry

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O. Henry
Age: 47 †
Born: 1862
Born: September 11
Died: 1910
Died: June 5
Journalist
Writer
Greensboro
North Carolina
William Sydney Porter
Olivier Henry
Oliver Henry
Couch
Couches
Clearly
Littles
Little
Nothing
Flop
Shabby
Howl

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This fair but pitiless city of Manhattan was without a soul ... its inhabitants were manikins moved by wires and springs.
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A burglar who respects his art always takes his time before taking anything else.
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Of habit, the power that keeps the earth from flying to pieces though there is some silly theory of gravitation.
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The magi, as you know, were wise men wonderfully wise men who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents.
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There is this difference between the grief of youth and that of old age youth's burden is lightened by as much of it as another shares old age may give and give, but the sorrow remains the same.
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Each of us, when our day's work is done, must seek our ideal, whether it be love or pinochle or lobster à la Newburg, or the sweet silence of the musty bookshelves.
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Life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
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We may achieve climate, but weather is thrust upon us.
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There is one day that is ours. There is one day when all we Americans who are not self-made go back to the old home to eat saleratus biscuits and marvel how much nearer to the porch the old pump looks than it used to. Thanksgiving Day is the one day that is purely American.
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The most notable thing about Time is that it is so purely relative. A large amount of reminiscence is, by common consent, conceded to the drowning man and it is not past belief that one may review an entire courtship while removing one's gloves.
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I'll give you the whole secret to short story writing. Here it is. Rule 1: Write stories that please yourself. There is no Rule 2.
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It'll be a great place if they ever finish it.
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If there ever was an aviary overstocked with jays it is that Yaptown-on-the-Hudson, call New York. Cosmopolitan they call it, you bet. So's a piece of fly-paper. You listen close when they're buzzing and trying to pull their feet out of the sticky stuff. Little old New York's good enough for us--that's what they sing.
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When one loves one's Art no service seems too hard.
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In time truth and science and nature will adapt themselves to art. Things will happen logically, and the villain be discomfited instead of being elected to the board of directors. But in the meantime fiction must not only be divorced from fact, but must pay alimony and be awarded custody of the press despatches.
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Now, girls, if you want to observe a young man hustle out after a pick and shovel, just tell him that your heart is in some other fellow's grave. Young men are grave-robbers by nature.
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Most wonderful of all are words, and how they make friends one with another.
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O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
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What is the world at its best but a little round field of the moving pictures with two walking together in it?
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Women's weapon, water-drops.
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