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It is a tragic hour, that hour when we are finally driven to reckon with ourselves, when every avenue of mental distraction has been cut off and our own life and all its ineffaceable failures closes about us like the walls of that old torture chamber of the Inquisition.

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
Hour
Distraction
Failure
Failures
Cutting
Walls
Reckon
Wall
Torture
Inquisition
Hours
Tragic
Closes
Every
Mental
Avenue
Life
Driven
Avenues
Like
Finally
Chamber

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People can be lovers and enemies at the same time, you know.
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A burnt dog dreads the fire.
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What if - what if Life itself were the sweetheart?
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A pioneer should have imagination, should be able to enjoy the idea of things more than the things themselves.
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Religion is different from everything else because in religion seeking is finding.
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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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Now that Stevenson is dead I can think of but one English- speaking author who is really keeping his self-respect and sticking forperfection. Of course I refer to that mighty master of language and keen student of human actions and motives, Henry James.
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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.
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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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Old men are like that, you know. It makes them feel important to think they are in love with somebody.
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Personal hatred and family affection are not incompatible they often flourish and grow strong together.
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In great misfortunes, people want to be alone. They have a right to be. And the misfortunes that occur within one are the greatest. Surely the saddest thing in the world is falling out of love--if once one has ever fallen in.
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From the time the Englishman's bones harden into bones at all, he makes his skeleton a flagstaff, and he early plants his feet like one who is to walk the world and the decks of all the seas.
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