Who is Willa Cather?

Willa Cather

Willa Sibert Cather (December 7, 1873 – April 24, 1947) was an American author who achieved recognition for her novels of frontier life on the Great Plains, in works such as O Pioneers!, My Ántonia, and The Song of the Lark. In 1923 she was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for One of Ours (1922), a novel set during World War I. Cather grew up in Nebraska and graduated from the University of Nebraska. She lived and worked in Pittsburgh for ten years, then at the age of 33 she moved to New York, where she lived for the rest of her life.

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Some articles on Willa Cather:

List Of Fictional Literature Featuring Opera - Authors C
... Carew The Contralto John Stewart Carter Full Fathom Five Willa Cather The Song of the Lark Willa Cather Lucy Gayheart Willa Cather A Wagner Matinee Frances Cavanah Two Loves for Jenny Lind Rodolfo Celletti Tu ...
Willa Cather - Bibliography - Collections
1936, essays) The Old Beauty and Others (1948, three stories) Willa Cather On Writing (1949, essays) Five Stories (1956, published by the Estate of Willa Cather) This does not include ...
Willa Cather Birthplace
... The Willa Cather Birthplace, also known as the Rachel E ... is the site near Gore, Frederick County, Virginia, where the Pulitzer Prize-winning author Willa Cather was born in 1873 ... Cather's maternal grandmother Rachel E ...

Famous quotes containing the words willa cather and/or cather:

    That air would disappear from the whole earth in time, perhaps; but long after his day. He did not know just when it had become so necessary to him, but he had come back to die in exile for the sake of it. Something soft and wild and free, something that whispered to the ear on the pillow, lightened the heart, softly, softly picked the lock, slid the bolts, and released the prisoned spirit of man into the wind, into the blue and gold, into the morning, into the morning!
    Willa Cather (1873–1947)

    ... in the cities there are thousands of rolling stones like me. We are all alike; we have no ties, we know nobody, we own nothing. When one of us dies, they scarcely know where to bury him.... We have no house, no place, no people of our own. We live in the streets, in the parks, in the theatres. We sit in restaurants and concert halls and look about at the hundreds of our own kind and shudder.
    —Willa Cather (1873–1947)