Why did you do all this for me?" he asked. "I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you.'You have been my friend,' replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing.
E. B. WhiteAbout author
- Author's profession: Writer
- Nationality: american
- Born: July 11, 1899
- Died: October 1, 1985
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In winter night Massachusetts Street is dismal, the ground's frozen cold, the ruts and pock holes have ice, thin snow slides over the jagged black cracks. The river is frozen to stolidity, waits; hung on a shore with remnant show-off boughs of June-- Ice skaters, Swedes, Irish girls, yellers and singers--they throng on the white ice beneath the crinkly stars that have no altar moon, no voice, but down heavy tragic space make halyards of Heaven on in deep, to where the figures fantastic...
Jack Kerouac