Not till the end of the war will there be any time for art or love or magic again. Perhaps never again.
Mary ButtsI thought of my father's wisdom, as though it were buried in a box under a tree. As in the old song - a gold box with a silver pin. Some day I should be grown up, and I should dig up the box and turn the pin.
Mary ButtsBuild a little fence of trust around today; Fill the space with loving deeds, and therein stay.
Mary ButtsIf it is true that it is the simplicity of the Einsteinian formulae which constitutes their difficulty, that they are so obvious as to escape notice, it seems to me that this applies to events in life, numberless happenings, perhaps the basic ones, which we, saturated in detail and hurrying through subdivisions, lose sight of.
Mary Butts