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What a strange distance there is between ill people and well ones.

Winifred Holtby

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Winifred Holtby
Age: 37 †
Born: 1898
Born: June 23
Died: 1935
Died: September 29
Author
Journalist
Novelist
Suffragette
Writer
Rudston
East Riding of Yorkshire
Distance
Ones
Strange
Wells
Well
People
Ill

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Most gay, conversational, careless, lovely city ... where one drinks golden Tokay until one feels most beautiful, and warm and loved - oh, Budapesth!
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I can't think why I was cursed with this inordinate desire to write, if the high gods weren't going to give me some more adquate means of expressing myself than that which my present pedestrian prose affords.
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it is the brevity of life which makes it tolerable its experiences have value because they have an end.
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I am much perturbed by this business of sickness. Our bodies seem so easily to leap into the saddle where our minds should be. People who are ill become changelings.
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The only difficulty is to know what bits to choose and what to leave out. Novel-writing is not creation, it is selection.
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Progress? It ought to be stopped, that's what I say. If the Lord meant chickens to come out of incubators he'd never have made hens, it stands to reason.
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Love needs the stiffening of respect, the give and take of equality.
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The things that one most wants to do are the things that are probably most worth doing.
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public work brings a vicarious but assured sense of immortality. We may be poor, weak, timid, in debt to our landlady, bullied by our nieces, stiff in the joints, shortsighted and distressed we shall perish, but the cause endures the cause is great.
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I find you in all small and lovely things in the little fishes like flames in the green water, in the furred and stupid softness of bumble-bees fat as laughter, in all the chiming radiance of warmth and light and scent in the summer garden.
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Remorse ... is one of the many afflictions for which time finds a cure.
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the damned book I am writing is like the driveling of a weak-kneed sea calf. If I were sufficiently strong minded, I should tear it up an start again. But I don't.
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why haven't we seventy lives? One is no use.
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Youth knows no remedy for grief but death.
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[On golf:] One of the most distressing defects of civilization.
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no truth is strong enough to defeat a well-established legend.
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It's the things you don't do, not the things you do, you feel most sorry for.
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But to write - that is grief and labor and to read what one has written - how unlike the story as one saw it how dull, how spirtless - that is enough to send one weeping to bed.
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Really, trees are nearly as important as men, and much better behaved.
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Those who prepare for war get it.
Winifred Holtby