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Late one brilliant April afternoon Professor Lucius Wilson stood at the head of Chestnut Street, looking about him with the pleased air of a man of taste who does not very often get to Boston.

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
Looking
Stood
Chestnuts
Often
Brilliant
Wilson
Doe
Street
Professor
Book
Air
April
Men
Taste
Boston
Streets
Pleased
Late
Professors
Head
Afternoon
Chestnut

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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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Too much information is rather deadening.
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Alcohol is perfectly consistent in its effects upon man. Drunkenness is merely an exaggeration. A foolish man drunk becomes maudlin a bloody man, vicious a coarse man, vulgar.
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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.
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Sometimes I wonder why God ever trusts talent in the hands of women, they usually make such an infernal mess of it. I think He must do it as a sort of ghastly joke.
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After all, the supreme virtue in all art is soul, perhaps it is the only thing which gives art a right to be.
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A creative writer can do his best only with what lies within the range and character of his deepest sympathies.
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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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Loyal? As loyal as anyone who plays second fiddle ever is.
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She had certain thoughts which were like companions, ideas which were like older and wiser friends.
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Even the wicked get worse than they deserve.
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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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More than him has done that, said Antonia sadly, and the girls murmured assent.
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Where there is great love there are always miracles.
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I suppose there were moonless nights and dark ones with but a silver shaving and pale stars in the sky, but I remember them all as flooded with the rich indolence of a full moon.
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