Mary Webb Short Quotes

20 Sourced Quotes

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If you stop to be kind, you must swerve often from your path.

Mary Webb
The more anybody wants a thing, the more they do think others want it.

Mary Webb
Nature's music is never over; her silences are pauses, not conclusions.

Mary Webb
It's the folk that depend on us for this and for the other that we most do miss.

Mary Webb
I'd laboured over it a long while, and labour brings a thing near the heart's core.

Mary Webb
It made me gladsome to be getting some education, it being like a big window opening.

Mary Webb
Love was like that — a lot of coloured threads, and one master-thread of pure gold.

Mary Webb
For the more a soul conforms to the sanity of others, the more does it become insane.

Mary Webb
I love you already, and if these things be done in the dry tree, what shall be done in the green?

Mary Webb
If you know much about your work - why you work, how you work, your aims - you are probably not a poet.

Mary Webb
Green is the fresh emblem of well-founded hopes. In blue the spirit can wander, but in green it can rest.

Mary Webb
She had the egoism that is more selfless than most people's altruism — the divine egoism that is genius.

Mary Webb
She had for so many years been trying to be like other people, that she was now like nothing in heaven or earth.

Mary Webb
But when you dwell in a house you mislike, you will look out of a window a deal more than those that are content with their dwelling.

Mary Webb
It is the way of lovers to think that none can bless or succour their love but their own selves. And there is a touch of truth in it, maybe more than a touch.

Mary Webb
There is usually no dreamer so unworldly as the anthologist. He wanders in a vast garden, lost in wonder, unable to decide often between flowers of equal loveliness.

Mary Webb
Insects are the artists of fragrance; they have a genius for it; there seems to be some affinity between the tenuity of their being and this most refined of the sense-impressions.

Mary Webb
The past is only the present become invisible and mute; and because it is invisible and mute, its memoried glances and it's murmurs are infinitely precious. We are tomorrow's past.

Mary Webb
She had so deep a kinship with the trees, so intuitive a sympathy with leaf and flower, that it seemed as if the blood in her veins was not slow-moving human blood, but volatile sap.

Mary Webb
I've thought since that when folk grumble about this and that and be not happy, it is not the fault of creation, that is like a vast mere full of good, but it is the fault of their bucket's smallness.

Mary Webb