Top Mary Cantwell Quotes - Quotesmemo.com

Mary Cantwell Biography

Mary Cantwell (1930–2000) was an American-born journalist and novelist. Cantwell served as a member of the New York Times editorial board for sixteen years.[citation needed] She wrote unsigned editorials, novels, and commentary for that newspaper. Cantwell also wrote for Mademoiselle and Vogue during her career. She also composed a trilogy of memoirs later in her life.

Read about Mary Cantwell in Wikipedia

Random Authors

Mary Cantwell Quotes

Gardeners, I think, dream bigger dreams than Emperor's.

Bigger, Dream, Garden, Think, Thinking

I had wanted to come back to Greenwich Village ever since I had left Waverly Place, and since moving to West Eleventh Street, I have never lived anyplace else. I do not want to. That is not because of what the Village is but because of what I have made it, and what I have made it depends on who I am at the time.

Anyplace, Greenwich, Happiness, Lived, Moving, Who I Am

Silence was the cure, if only temporarily, silence and geography. But of what was I being cured? I do not know, have never known. I only know the cure. Silence, and no connections except to landscape.

Connections, Cured, Happiness, Landscape, Silence

To be involved with books is to live at the heart of light.

Book, Heart, Involved, Light

the hymns were born in the fifteenth or sixteenth century or earlier, and listening to them was like licking an icicle: the same chill, the same purity.

Hymns, Licking, Listening, Music, Sixteenth

Mystery fiction is, after all, a substitute for tranquilizers, strong drink, and bad, if diverting, companions. One slips into bed. . . onto the train. . . into the chair in the sickroom. . . and is suddenly transported to a place where light fights dark and wins. When the story's over, one is left without a hangover, without remorse. Can any other opiate make that claim?

Dark, Hangover, Make, Sickroom, Strong

Like most people, most Westerners anyway, I have a sneaking suspicion I am immortal.

Immortal, Immortality, People, Sneaking, Suspicion, Westerners

In giving our daughter life, her father and I had also given her death, something I hadn't realized until that new creature flailed her arms in what was now infinite space. We had given her disease and speeding cars and flying cornices: once out of the fortress that had been myself, she would never be safe again. . . We disappoint our kids and they disappoint us, and sometimes they grow up into people we don't like very much. We go on loving, though what we love may be more memory than actuality. And until the day we die we fear the phone that rings in the middle of the night.

Daughter, Flailed, Fortress, Growing Up, Memories, Night

Meanwhile, as we read, two little girls slept as if couched on zephyrs on the south side of the parlor floor, in a room that had bunny wallpaper. . . and a bookcase crammed with the collected Beatrix Potter. Snow White was in a youth bed and Rose Red was in a crib, and next to them was the little blue and white guest room that one of them would have one day. Because I recognize emotions only in retrospect, I didn't know that I was happy. As always, there was something nagging at my mind's corners. But I did know that I had all that it is proper in this world to wish for.

Beatrix, Girl, Happiness, Red, Two, Wish

Jessica Chastain

Jessica Chastain

John Stott

John Stott

Bob Stoops

Bob Stoops

Alexander III of Russia

Alexander III of Russia

Gilbert K. Chesterton

Gilbert K. Chesterton

Andy Griffith

Andy Griffith

Mark Ryden

Mark Ryden

Colum McCann

Colum McCann

Jill Scott

Jill Scott

Ludmilla Tourischeva

Ludmilla Tourischeva

David Storey

David Storey

Noah Gray-Cabey

Noah Gray-Cabey