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Of all the bewildering things about a new country, the absence of human landmarks is one of the most depressing and disheartening.

Willa Cather

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Willa Cather
Age: 73 †
Born: 1873
Born: December 7
Died: 1947
Died: April 24
Author
Biographer
Essayist
Journalist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
Willa Sibert Cather
Humans
Country
Things
Bewildering
Disheartening
Landmarks
Depressing
Absence
Human

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The sun was like a great visiting presence that stimulated and took its due from all animal energy. When it flung wide its cloak and stepped down over the edge of the fields at evening, it left behind it a spent and exhausted world.
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Most of the basic material a writer works with is acquired before the age of fifteen.
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William Tavener never heeded ominous forecasts in the domestic horizon, and he never looked for a storm until it broke.
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The dead might as well try to speak to the living as the old to the young.
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Only solitary men know the full joys of frienship. Others have their family but to a solitary and an exile, his friends are everything.
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Today I stood taller from walking among the trees.
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I shall not die of a cold. I shall die of having lived.
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It is scarcely exaggeration to say that if one is not a little mad about Balzac at twenty, one will never live and if at forty one can still take Rastignac and Lucien de Rubempre at Balzac's own estimate, one has lived in vain.
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One January day, thirty years ago, the little town of Hanover, anchored on a windy Nebraska tableland, was trying not to be blown away.
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There is something frank and joyous and young in the open face of the country. It gives itself ungrudgingly to the moods of the season, holding nothing back.
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The history of every country begins in the heart of a man or a woman.
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The air was cool enough to make the warm sun pleasant on one's back and shoulders, and so clear that the eye could follow a hawk up and up, into the blazing blue depths of the sky.
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Art is a concrete and personal and rather childish thing after all - no matter what people do to graft it into science and make it sociological and psychological it is no good at all unless it is let alone to be itself - a game of make-believe, or re-production, very exciting and delightful to people who have an ear for it or an eye for it.
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There was a new kind of strength in the gravity of her face, and her colors still gave her that look of deep-seated health and ardor.
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Desire is creation, is the magical element in that process. If there were an instrument by which to measure desire, one could foretell achievement.
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What was any art but a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining elusive element which is life itself - life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose.
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The heart, when it is too much alive, aches for that brown earth, and ecstasy has no fear of death.
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Give the people a new word and they think they have a new fact.
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Oh, this is the joy of the rose That it blows, And goes.
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The pale, cold light of the winter sunset did not beautify - it was like the light of truth itself.
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