The irregular and intimate quality of things made entirely by the human hand. – Willa Cather
The condition every art requires is, not so much freedom from restriction, as freedom from adulteration and from the intrusion of foreign matter. – Willa Cather
Only solitary men know the full joys of frienship. Others have their family but to a solitary and an exile, his friends are everything. – Willa Cather
What was any art but a mold 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