|William Dean Howells|
William Dean Howells, photograph by Underwood & Underwood
|Born||(1837-03-01)March 1, 1837
Martins Ferry (then Martinsville), Ohio, U.S.
|Died||May 11, 1920(1920-05-11) (aged 83)
Manhattan, New York, U.S.
|Children||Winifred Howells (b. 1863)
John Mead Howells (b. 1868)
Mildred Howells (b. 1872)
Wisdom and goodness are twin-born, one heart must hold both sisters, never seen apart.
The mortality of all inanimate things is terrible to me, but that of books most of all.
The conqueror is regarded with awe; the wise man commands our respect; but it is only the benevolent man that wins our affection.
In Europe life is histrionic and dramatized, and in America, except when it is trying to be European, it is direct and sincere.
The book which you read from a sense of duty, or because for any reason you must, does not commonly make friends with you.
There will presently be no room in the world for things; it will be filled up with the advertisements of things.
You’ll find as you grow older that you weren’t born such a great while ago after all. The time shortens up.
If we like a man’s dream, we call him a reformer; if we don’t like his dream, we call him a crank.
Is it worth while to observe that there are no Venetian blinds in Venice?
A man never sees all that his mother has been to him until it’s too late to let her know that he sees it.
It is the still, small voice that the soul heeds, not the deafening blasts of doom.
The action is best that secures the greatest happiness for the greatest number.
We are creatures of the moment; we live from one little space to another, and only one interest at a time fills these.
What the American public wants in the theater is a tragedy with a happy ending.
The secret of the man who is universally interesting is that he is universally interested.
Tomorrow I shall be sixty-nine, but I do not seem to care. I did not start the affair, and I have not been consulted about it at any step.