Katherine Mansfield Quotes - Page 3

You have never been curious about me; you never wanted to explore my soul.

The whole world shall be ours because of our love.

Looking back, I imagine I was always writing. Twaddle it was too. But better far write twaddle or anything, anything, than nothing at all.

Ach, Tchekov! Why are you dead? Why can’t I talk to you in a big darkish room at late evening—where the light is green from the waving trees outside? I’d like to write a series of Heavens: that would be one.

There are in life as many aspects as attitudes towards it, and aspects change with attitudes.

I love the rain. I want the feeling of it on my face.

To acknowledge the presence of fear is to give birth to failure.

Oh, how quickly things changed! Why didn't happiness last for ever? For ever wasn't a bit too long.

Can one do nothing for the dead? And for a long time the answer had been - Nothing!

I love the night. I love to feel the tide of darkness rising, slowly and slowly washing, turning over and over, lifting, floating, all that lies strewn upon the dark beach, all that lies hid in rocky hollows.

We can do whatever we wish to do provided our wish is strong enough. But the tremendous effort needed- one doesn't always want to make it-does one? ... But what else can be done? What's the alternative? What do you want most to do? That's what I have to keep asking myself, in the face of difficulties.

But the more poetry one reads the more one longs to read!

I have such a horror of telegrams that ask me how I am!! I always want to reply dead.

In fact, isn't it a joy - there is hardly a greater one - to find a new book, a living book, and to know that it will remain with you while life lasts?

Oh, impossible. Fancy cream puffs so soon after breakfast. The very idea made one shudder. All the same, two minutes later Jose and Laura were licking their fingers with that absorbed inward look that only comes from whipped cream.

Isn't life,' she stammered, 'isn't life--' But what life was she couldn't explain. No matter. He quite understood. 'Isn't it, darling?' said Laurie.

Perhaps it does not matter so very much what it is one loves in this world. But love something one must.

England is merely an island of beef swimming in a warm gulf stream of gravy.

I am treating you as my friend, asking you to share my present minuses in the hope that I can ask you to share my future plusses.

I am a recluse at present & do nothing but write & read & read & write

Why! Why! Why is the middle-class so stodgy - so utterly without a sense of humor?

Every time one leaves anywhere, something precious, which ought not to be killed, is left to die.

In the shortest sea voyage there is no sense of time. You have been down in the cabin for hours or days or years. Nobody knows or cares. You know all the people to the point of indifference. You do not believe in dry land any more - you are caught in the pendulum itself, and left there, idly swinging.

What do you want most to do? That's what I have to keep asking myself, in the face of difficulties.

The fields are snowbound no longer; There are little blue lakes and flags of tenderest green. The snow has been caught up into the sky- So many white clouds-and the blue of the sky is cold. Now the sun walks in the forest, He touches the bows and stems with his golden fingers; They shiver, and wake from slumber. Over the barren branches he shakes his yellow curls. Yet is the forest full of the sound of tears.... A wind dances over the fields. Shrill and clear the sound of her waking laughter, Yet the little blue lakes tremble And the flags of tenderest green bend and quiver.