Katherine Mansfield
Katherine Mansfield
Kathleen Mansfield Murrywas a prominent New Zealand modernist short story writer who was born and brought up in colonial New Zealand and wrote under the pen name of Katherine Mansfield. At 19, Mansfield left New Zealand and settled in the United Kingdom, where she became a friend of modernist writers such as D.H. Lawrence and Virginia Woolf. In 1917 she was diagnosed with extrapulmonary tuberculosis, which led to her death at the age of 34...
NationalityNew Zealander
ProfessionAuthor
Date of Birth14 October 1888
tonight my-love-for-you greatest-love
My love for you tonight is so deep and tender that it seems to be outside myself as well.
children thinking apples
Now's the time when children's noses All become as red as roses And the colour of their faces Makes me think of orchard places Where the juicy apples grow, And tomatoes in a row.
stars writing dark
I think of you often. Especially in the evenings, when I am on the balcony and it’s too dark to write or to do anything but wait for the stars. A time I love. One feels half disembodied, sitting like a shadow at the door of one’s being while the dark tide rises. Then comes the moon, marvellously serene, and small stars, very merry for some reason of their own. It is so easy to forget, in a worldly life, to attend to these miracles.
life life-lesson habit
Life never become a habit to me. It's always a marvel.
stars light sky
Outside the sky is light with stars
laughter spring clouds
The fields are snowbound no longer; There are little blue lakes and flags of tenderest green. The snow has been caught up into the sky- So many white clouds-and the blue of the sky is cold. Now the sun walks in the forest, He touches the bows and stems with his golden fingers; They shiver, and wake from slumber. Over the barren branches he shakes his yellow curls. Yet is the forest full of the sound of tears.... A wind dances over the fields. Shrill and clear the sound of her waking laughter, Yet the little blue lakes tremble And the flags of tenderest green bend and quiver.
soul curious wanted
You have never been curious about me; you never wanted to explore my soul.
live-life book writing
I want so to live that I work with my hands and my feeling and my brain. I want a garden, a small house, grass, animals, books, pictures, music. And out of this, the expression of this, I want to be writing (Though I may write about cabmen. That’s no matter.) But warm, eager, living life — to be rooted in life — to learn, to desire, to feel, to think, to act. This is what I want. And nothing less. That is what I must try for.
stars regret sunset
I love the evening star. Does that sound foolish? I used to go into the backyard, after sunset, and wait for it until it shone above the dark gum tree. I used to whisper 'There you are, my darling.' And just in that first moment it seemed to be shining for me alone. It seemed to understand this ... something which is like longing, and yet it is not longing. Or regret - it is more like regret.
stars gay strange
It is strange that there are times when I feel the stars are not at all solemn: they are secretly gay.
writing people effort
Why it should be such an effort to write to the people one loves I can't imagine. It's none at all to write to those who don't really count.
friendship sacred truth-is
The truth is friendship is every bit as sacred and eternal as marriage.
want faces asking
What do you want most to do? That's what I have to keep asking myself, in the face of difficulties.
writing light tree
Ach, Tchekov! Why are you dead? Why can’t I talk to you in a big darkish room at late evening—where the light is green from the waving trees outside? I’d like to write a series of Heavens: that would be one.