Edna Ferber Quotes
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Roast Beef, Medium, is not only a food. It is a philosophy. ... Roast Beef, Medium, is safe, and sane, and sure.
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Spring ... made fair false promises which summer was called upon to keep.
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Does one eat peanuts at a ball game?' 'It ain't hardly legal if you don't.
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If American politics are too dirty for women to take part in, there's something wrong with American politics.
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No woman ought to pretend she's intelligent. And if she is she ought to have the intelligence to pretend she isn't.
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Texas history is a varied, tempestuous, and vast as the state itself. Texas yesterday is unbelievable, but no more incredible than Texas today. Today's Texas is exhilarating, exasperating, violent, charming, horrible, delightful, alive.
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A woman can look both moral and exciting... if she also looks as if it was quite a struggle.
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A placated bully is a hand-fed bully.
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Big doesn't necessarily mean better. Sunflowers aren't better than violets.
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Science had married the wilderness and was taming the savage shrew.
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There are only two kinds of people in the world that really count. One kind's wheat and the other kind's emeralds.
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Now gae your wa'sTho'anes as gude As ever happit flesh and blude, Yet part we maunthe case sae hard is, Amang the writers and the bardies That lang they'll brook the auld I trow, Or neibours cry,'Weel brook the new'.
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About mistakes it's funny. You got to make your own; and not only that, if you try to keep people from making theirs they get mad.
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I think that in order to write really well and convincingly, one must be somewhat poisoned by emotion.
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The small town smart set is deadly serious about its smartness.
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All the difference in the world between the movies and the thrill I get out of a play at the theater. Ay, yes! Like fooling around with paper dolls when you could be playing with a real live baby.
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It's difficult to write a really good short story because it must be a complete and finished reflection of life with only a few words to use as tools. There isn't time for bad writing in a short story.
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But almost any place is Baghdad if you don't know what will happen in it.
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But always, to her, red and green cabbages were to be jade and burgundy, chrysoprase and prophyry. Life has no weapons against a woman like that.
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... home isn't always the place where you were born and bred. Home is the place where your everyday clothes are, and where somebody or something needs you.
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To be alive is a fine thing. It is the finest thing in the world, though hazardous. It is a unique thing. It happens only once in a lifetime. To be alive, to know consciously that you are alive, and to relish that knowledge -- this is a kind of magic. Or it may be a kind of madness, exhilarating but harmless.
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People permit life to slide past them like a deft pickpocket, their purse-not yet missed and now too late-in his hand.
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here in Texas maybe we've got into the habit of confusing bigness with greatness.
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Imported actors, like certain wines, sometimes do not stand the ocean trip. This can be as true of American actors in Europe as it is of European actors in America.
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Wasn't marriage, like life, unstimulating and unprofitable and somewhat empty when too well ordered and protected and guarded. Wasn't it finer, more splendid, more nourishing, when it was, like life itself, a mixture of the sordid and the magnificent; of mud and stars; of earth and flowers; of love and hate and laughter and tears and ugliness and beauty and hurt.
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I don't know what it is that makes a writer go to his desk in his shut-off room day after day after year after year unless it is the sure knowledge that not to have done the daily stint of writing that day is infinitely more agonizing than to write.
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The ideal view for daily writing, hour for hour, is the blank brick wall of a cold-storage warehouse. Failing this, a stretch of sky will do, cloudless if possible.
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A stricken tree, a living thing, so beautiful, so dignified, so admirable in its potential longevity, is, next to man, perhaps the most touching of wounded objects.
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don't you hate people who say they're not complaining and then complain?
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When a new post-war generation has grown to puberty and to youth and to manhood and womanhood, it should read, and it should be realistically told, of the futility, the idiocy, the utter depravity of war. For that matter, this instruction could begin at the age of six with the taking of those toy guns out of those toy holsters and throwing them in the ash-cans where they belong.
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