Quotes from Stephen Crane

There's no fun in fightin' fer people when everything yeh do—no matter what—ain't done right.

Within him something bade to cry out. He had the impulse to make a rallying speech, to sing a battle hymn, but he could only get his tongue to call into the air: "Why—why—what—what 's th' matter?

And, furthermore, how could they kill him who was the chosen of gods and doomed to greatness?

Why—why—" stammered the youth struggling with his balking tongue.

A serious prophet upon predicting a flood should be the first man to climb a tree.

Whereupon she went to work, having the feminine aversion of going to hell.

A single rifle flashed in a thicket before the regiment.

The battle roar settled to a rolling thunder, which was a single long explosion. In the regiment there was a peculiar kind of hesitation denoted in the attitudes of the men. They were worn, exhausted, having slept but little and labored much. They rolled their eyes toward the advancing battle as they stood awaiting the shock. Some shrank and flinched. They stood as men tied to stakes.

A dog, a woman, an' a walnut tree, Th' more yeh beat 'em, th' better they be! That's like us.

LXV [Once, I knew a fine song] Once, I knew a fine song, —It is true, believe me,— It was all of birds, And I held them in a basket; When I opened the wicket, Heavens! They all flew away. I cried, "Come back, little thoughts!" But they only laughed. They flew on Until they were as sand Thrown between me and the sky.

He was, then, a hero. He suffered that disappointment which we would all have if we discovered that we were ourselves capable of those deeds which we most admire in history and legend. This, then, was a hero. After all, heroes were not much.

MARJORY walked pensively along the hall. In the cool shadows made by the palms on the window ledge, her face wore the expression of thoughtful melancholy expected on the faces of the devotees who pace in cloistered gloom. She halted before a door at the end of the hall and laid her hand on the knob. She stood hesitating, her head bowed. It was evident that this mission was to require great fortitude.

Many red devils ran from my heart And out upon the page, They were so tiny The pen could mash them. And many struggled in the ink. It was strange To write in this red muck Of things from my heart.

many red devils ran from my heart and out upon the page, they were so tiny the pen could mash them. And many struggled in the ink. It was strange to write in this red much of things from my heart.

This poor gambler isn't even a noun. He is kind of an adverb.

from all parts and were

he began to fear that his judgment of them had been blind.

He wished that he, too, had a wound, a red badge of courage.

El que puede cambiar sus pensamientos, puede cambiar su destino

It was difficult to think of reputation when others were thinking of skins.

Henry Fleming?

Truth ... Is a breath, a wind, A shadow, a phantom; Long have I pursued it, But never have I touched The hem of its garment.

Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.Because your lover threw wild hands toward the skyAnd the affrighted steed ran on alone,Do not weep.War is kind.

In the desertI saw a creature, naked, bestial,Who, squatting upon the ground,Held his heart in his hands,And ate of it.I said, "Is it good, friend?""It is bitter—bitter," he answered;"But I like it"Because it is bitter,"And because it is my heart."