Quote

The soul cannot be humbled by fasts and prayer it must be broken by mortal sin to experience forgiveness of sin and rise to a state of grace. Otherwise, religion is nothing but dead logic.

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
Nothing
Grace
Mortals
Must
Prayer
Forgiveness
State
Rise
Religion
Logic
Experience
Otherwise
Cannot
Sin
Fasts
States
Broken
Humbled
Soul
Dead
Mortal

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Thea was still under the belief that public opinion could be placated that if you clucked often enough, the hens would mistake you for one of themselves.
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To fulfil the dreams of one's youth that is the best that can happen to a man. No worldly success can take the place of that.
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The great fact was the land itself, which seemed to overwhelm the little beginnings of human society that struggled in its sombre wastes.
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I shall not die of a cold. I shall die of having lived.
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I like trees because they seem more resigned to the way they have to live than other things do.
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Youth, art, love, dreams, true-heartedness - why must they go out of the summer world into darkness?
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The summer moon hung full in the sky. For the time being it was the great fact of the world.
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This land was an enigma. It was like a horse that no one knows how to break to harness, that runs wild and kicks things to pieces.
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The condition every art requires is, not so much freedom from restriction, as freedom from adulteration and from the intrusion of foreign matter.
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Of course Nebraska is a storehouse of literary material. Everywhere is a storehouse of literary material. If a true artist were born in a pigpen and raised in a sty, he would still find plenty of inspiration for his work. The only need is the eye to see.
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The history of every country begins in the heart of a man or a woman.
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The only thing very noticeable about Nebraska was that it was still, all day long, Nebraska.
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In little towns, lives roll along so close to one another loves and hates beat about, their wings almost touching.
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She had only to stand in the orchard, to put her hand on a little crab tree and look up at the apples, to make you feel the goodness of planting and tending and harvesting at last.
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People can be lovers and enemies at the same time, you know.
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life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose.
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Oh, this is the joy of the rose That it blows, And goes.
Willa Cather
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Winter lies too long in country towns hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.
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One afternoon late in October of the year 1697, Euclide Auclair, the philosopher apothecary of Quebec, stood on the top of Cap Diamant gazing down the broad, empty river far beneath him.
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Beautiful women, whose beauty meant more than it said... was their brilliancy always fed by something coarse and concealed? Was that their secret?
Willa Cather