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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.
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
Write
Prose
Give
Weren
Giving
Gods
Inordinate
Mean
Talent
Pedestrian
Writing
Present
Pedestrians
Going
High
Affords
Think
Desire
Cursed
Thinking
Means
Expressing
More quotes by Winifred Holtby
If you are rich, you have lovely cars, and jars full of flowers, and books in rows, and a wireless, and the best sort of gramophone and meringues for supper.
Winifred Holtby
Surely, if life is good, it is good throughout its substance we cannot separate men's activities from women's and say, these are worthy of praise and these unworthy.
Winifred Holtby
Everybody's tragedy is somebody's nuisance.
Winifred Holtby
If we haven't a grouch against Fortune, we seem unable to avoid one against ourselves.
Winifred Holtby
You are quite, quite wrong if you think that ... I find your happiness painful. What matters is that happiness - the golden day - should exist in the world, not much to whom it comes. For all of us it is so transitory a thing, how could one not draw joy from its arrival?
Winifred Holtby
But questioning does not mean the end of loving, and loving does not mean the abnegation of intelligence
Winifred Holtby
The more I see of dogs, the more I like children.
Winifred Holtby
Love needs the stiffening of respect, the give and take of equality.
Winifred Holtby
Most gay, conversational, careless, lovely city ... where one drinks golden Tokay until one feels most beautiful, and warm and loved - oh, Budapesth!
Winifred Holtby
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.
Winifred Holtby
Why, why, when one writes, does a sort of shackle bind one's imagination? I become conscious of a deadening mediocrity, perhaps a form of mental cowardice, and I long to break free, to let my imagination take wings. It doesn't - yet.
Winifred Holtby
Oh, time betrays us. Time is the great enemy.
Winifred Holtby
Those who prepare for war get it.
Winifred Holtby
I advise nobody to drown sorrow in cocoa. It is bad for the figure and it does not alleviate the sorrow.
Winifred Holtby
Remorse ... is one of the many afflictions for which time finds a cure.
Winifred Holtby
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.
Winifred Holtby
I would, if I could, always feed to music. The singularly graceless action of thus filling one's body with roots and dead animals and powdered grain is given some significance then. One can perform as a ritual what one is shamed to do as a utilitarian action.
Winifred Holtby
This alone is to be feared - the closed mind, the sleeping imagination, the death of the spirit. The death of the body is to that, I think, a little thing.
Winifred Holtby
What a strange distance there is between ill people and well ones.
Winifred Holtby
it is the brevity of life which makes it tolerable its experiences have value because they have an end.
Winifred Holtby