Quote - Aphorism - Proverb
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What was any art but a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining elusive element which is life itself - life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose.
Category: Art Author: Willa Cather
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Artistic growth is, more than it is anything else, a refining of the sense of truthfulness. The stupid believe that to be truthful is easy; only the artist, the great artist, knows how difficult it is.
Category: Art Author: Willa Cather
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He had the uneasy manner of a man who is not among his own kind, and who has not seen enough of the world to feel that all people are in some sense his own kind.
Category: Curmudgeons Author: Willa Cather
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I shall not die of a cold. I shall die of having lived.
Category: Death Author: Willa Cather
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I like trees because they seem more resigned to the way they have to live than other things do.
Category: Trees Author: Willa Cather
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