Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen. – Willa Cather
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The dead might as well try to speak to the living as the old to the young. – Willa Cather
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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
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