Writer’s Quote Wednesday // E.B. White

Hello friends and welcome to Writer’s Quote Wednesday, a weekly event hosted by Colleen at Silver Threading. Every week bloggers share their favorite quotes to inspire and motivate each other to keep writing and  working toward our goals. My contribution this week is from the American essayist and author E.B. White.

White Literary LLC [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons
Elwyn Brooks White was born on July 11, 1899 in Mount Vernon, New York. He was the youngest child of Samuel Tilly White, the president of a piano firm, and Jessie Hart White, the daughter of Scottish-American painter William Hart. White is best known for writing some of the most beloved children’s classics including, Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little, the former of which was voted the top children’s novel in a 2012 survey of School Library Journal readers, an accomplishment repeated in earlier surveys. He was also an accomplished essayist, humorist, poet.

He graduated from Cornell University in 1921 and, five or six years later, joined the staff of The New Yorker magazine. He was a contributor to The New Yorker magazine and a co-author of the English language style guide The Elements of Style, which is commonly known as “Strunk & White”. He authored over seventeen books of prose and poetry and was elected to the American Academy of Arts and Letters in 1973. Mr. White has won countless awards, including the 1971 National Medal for Literature and the Laura Ingalls Wilder Medal, which commended him for making “a substantial and lasting contribution to literature for children.”

White always said that he found writing difficult and bad for one’s disposition.

White died on October 1, 1985, suffering from Alzheimer’s disease, at his farm home in North Brooklin, Maine.

“All that I hope to say in books, all that I ever hope to say, is that I love the world.”

E.B. White

I’ve said it many times before and I’ll probably be saying it my whole life, I love every human being living on this lonely rock orbiting third from the sun. I know it’s corny but we are all such rare creatures in this great big universe, how could you not see each of us as precious and worthy of the utmost care and consideration?

I love us for good and bad, I love us for what we are, perfectly flawed creatures. I love us for being so selfish and yet capable of the great acts of empathy. I love our every accomplishment and our every failure. I love us for all our sufferings and all the happiness we can share. We are both the worst and the best thing to ever happen to this world. We are everything and nothing and we are certainly worth writing about, that is for sure.

Think of all the stories ever written, probably in the billions right? Think about how each one reveals a bit of human truth and a bit of the human heart. That is how complex we are! We need billions of stories, with more being written all the time, to hold the entirety of the human condition and experience. Our fears and hopes, our love and hate, our sadness and happiness, our short history and our visions for the future, all contained in stories we’ve written since the dawn of our time. It’s amazing that we have so much to say about ourselves.

Writers are like new lovers who can’t stop talking about the person who has so captivated them. Writers are like new parents talk about every ordinary thing their kid does as if it was never done before. Writers love the world like a best friend and see every other human as a brother and sister. I think every writer has to love the world if they to write a story about it. Every writer has to love people to reveal our humanness. I think the love comes first and being a writer is a symptom.

I think writing is the only way to express a love that is as big as the whole world.


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