The irregular and intimate quality of things made entirely by the human hand. – Willa Cather
He had the uneasy manner of a man who is not among his own kind, and who has not seen enough of the world to feel that all people are in some sense his own kind. – Willa Cather
There are only two or three human stories, and they go on repeating themselves as fiercely as if they had never happened before. – Willa Cather
All the intelligence and talent in the world cant make a singer. The voice is a wild thing. It cant be bred in captivity. It is a sport, like the silver fox. It happens. – Willa Cather