Quote#Time
What was any art but an effort to make a sheath, a mould in which to…
Quote byWilla Cather · 1873–1947
Commonly attributed — not confirmed in an authoritative edition. Cited on Wikiquote to: The Song of the Lark (1915), Part IV, Ch. 3.
English (original)
What was any art but an effort to make a sheath, 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?
— Willa Cather
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The dead might as well try to speak to the living as the old to the young.
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There's nothing so dangerous as sitting still. You've only got one life, one youth, and you can let it slip through your fingers if you want to; nothing easier. Most people do that.
The world there was the flat world of the ancients; to the east, a cornfield that stretched to daybreak; to the west, a corral that reached to the sunset; between, the conquests of peace, dearer-bought than those of war.
The sun was like a great visiting presence that stimulated and took its due from all animal energy. When it flung wide its cloak and stepped down over the edge of the fields at evening, it left behind it a spent and exhausted world.