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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.

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
Follow
Pleasant
Clear
Depth
Eye
Warm
Back
Sky
Hawk
Enough
Cool
Hawks
Make
Sun
Blazing
Blue
Depths
Air
Shoulders

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There is often a good deal of the child left in people who have had to grow up too soon.
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It does not matter much whom we live with in this world, but it matters a great deal whom we dream of.
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What if - what if Life itself were the sweetheart?
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One summer evening in the year 1848, three Cardinals and a missionary were dining together in the gardens of a villa in the Sabine hills, overlooking Rome.
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Only a Woman, divine, could know all that a woman can suffer.
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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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The trees and shrubbery seemed well-groomed and social, like pleasant people.
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Whatever is felt upon the page without being specifically named there — that, one might say, is created.
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People live through such pain only once. Pain comes again—but it finds a tougher surface.
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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 heart, when it is too much alive, aches for that brown earth, and ecstasy has no fear of death.
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Prayers said by good people are always good prayers
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Even the wicked get worse than they deserve.
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The world is always full of brilliant youth which fades into grey and embittered middle age: the first flowering takes everything. The great men are those who have developed slowly, or who have been able to survive the glamour of their early florescence and to go on learning from life.
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The world is little, people are little, human life is little. There is only one big thing — desire.
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It is easy to pity when once one's vanity has been tickled.
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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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No nation has ever produced great art that has not made a high art of cookery, because art appeals primarily to the senses.
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From two ears that had grown side by side, the grains of one shot up joyfully into the light, projecting themselves into the future, and the grains from the other lay still in the earth and rotted and nobody knew why.
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Religion is different from everything else because in religion seeking is finding.
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