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It is cremated youth. It is all yours--no one gave it to you.
Willa Cather
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Willa Cather
Age: 73 †
Born: 1873
Born: December 7
Died: 1947
Died: April 24
Author
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Essayist
Journalist
Novelist
Poet
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Willa Sibert Cather
Cremated
Gave
Youth
More quotes by Willa Cather
A creative writer can do his best only with what lies within the range and character of his deepest sympathies.
Willa Cather
I ain't got time to learn. I can work like mans now.
Willa Cather
Every artist makes herself born. You must bring the artist into the world yourself.
Willa Cather
Men are all right for friends, but as soon as you marry them they turn into cranky old fathers, even the wild ones. They begin to tell you what's sensible and what's foolish, and want you to stick at home all the time. I prefer to be foolish when I feel like it, and be accountable to nobody.
Willa Cather
An artist's saddest secrets are those that have to do with his artistry.
Willa Cather
The heart, when it is too much alive, aches for that brown earth, and ecstasy has no fear of death.
Willa Cather
If [the writer] achieves anything noble, anything enduring, it must be by giving himself absolutely to his material. And this gift of sympathy is his great gift is the fine thing in him that alone can make his work fine.
Willa Cather
Whatever is felt upon the page without being specifically named there — that, one might say, is created.
Willa Cather
What if - what if Life itself were the sweetheart?
Willa Cather
Every fine story must leave in the mind of the sensitive reader an intangible residuum of pleasure, a cadence, a quality of voice that is exclusively the writer's own, individual, unique.
Willa Cather
Let people go on talking as they like, and we will go on living as we think best.
Willa Cather
More than him has done that, said Antonia sadly, and the girls murmured assent.
Willa Cather
Today I stood taller from walking among the trees.
Willa Cather
Religion is different from everything else because in religion seeking is finding.
Willa Cather
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.
Willa Cather
I shall not die of a cold. I shall die of having lived.
Willa Cather
Now I understood that the same road was to bring us together again. Whatever we had missed, we possessed together the precious, the incommunicable past.
Willa Cather
Every artist makes himself born. It is very much harder than the other time, and longer.
Willa Cather
The trees and shrubbery seemed well-groomed and social, like pleasant people.
Willa Cather
youth, when it is hurt, likes to feel itself betrayed.
Willa Cather