shewritesalone-blog

[shewritesalone-blog]

Some conversations are not about what they’re about.

Anne Carson, Red Doc>  (via wordsnquotes)

[shewritesalone-blog]

I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of.

Charles Bukowski (via wordsnquotes)

[shewritesalone-blog]

Libraries, archives, and museums all find themselves at the intersection of materiality and the mystical. Perhaps this is why we’re so quiet when we enter them.

Jenn Shapland, “Finders Keepers” in Tin House (via days-of-reading)

[shewritesalone-blog]

The first draft is just you telling yourself the story.

Terry Pratchett   (via wordsnquotes)

[shewritesalone-blog]

To translate a poem from thinking into English takes all night.

Grace Paley (via writingquotes)

[shewritesalone-blog]

I learn a good deal by merely observing you, And letting you talk as long as you please, And taking note of what you do not say.

T.S. Eliot, The Cocktail Party (via wordsnquotes)

[shewritesalone-blog]

If the novels are still being read in 50 years, no one is ever going to say: ‘What’s great about that sixth book is that he met his deadline!’ It will be about how the whole thing stands up.

George R.R. Martin (via writingquotes)

[shewritesalone-blog]

Writing is saying to no one and to everyone the things it is not possible to say to someone. Or rather writing is saying to the no one who may eventually be the reader those things one has no someone to whom to say them.��

Rebecca Solnit The Faraway Nearby

[shewritesalone-blog]

so are books. 😂😂 http://weheartit.com/entry/142242844

[shewritesalone-blog]

Do something on We Heart It - http://weheartit.com/entry/142300357

[shewritesalone-blog]

Write Your Story Untitled on We Heart It - http://weheartit.com/entry/142369849

[shewritesalone-blog]

“It was stupid, thinking it was him,” he muttered. “I mean, I knew he was dead.” “You think the dead we have loved ever truly leave us? You think that we don’t recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble? Your father is alive in you, Harry, and shows himself most plainly when you have need of him..."

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

[shewritesalone-blog]

Reading set standards. Reading opened up to me all these norms, or — to put it in a more naive and probably truthful way — ideals. So that to be part of literature, to be even the humblest, lowest member of the great multitude of people who actually dare to put words on paper and publish them, seemed to me the most glorious thing one could do.

Susan Sontag Lecture at 92nd Street Y, 1992

[shewritesalone-blog]

If she starts cleaning up imaginary lint from the sofa, one sort of person is suggested. If she spills her scotch and lets it sink into her skirt without seeming to care, that suggests another. Something prosaic like sitting down and reading the newspaper does not tell the readers much. But if she turns at once to the medical column, that might tell us something. The actions you give your characters should be densely informative.

Jerome Stern, Making Shapely Fiction (via the-right-writing)

[shewritesalone-blog]

“It only put me in Gryffindor,” said Harry in a defeated voice, “because I asked not to go in Slytherin… .”“Exactly,” said Dumbledore, beaming once more. “Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.”

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

[shewritesalone-blog]

Writers don’t make any money at all. We make about a dollar. It is terrible. But then again we don’t work either. We sit around in our underwear until noon then go downstairs and make coffee, fry some eggs, read the paper, read part of a book, smell the book, wonder if perhaps we ourselves should work on our book, smell the book again, throw the book across the room because we are quite jealous that any other person wrote a book, feel terribly guilty about throwing the schmuck’s book across the room because we secretly wonder if God in heaven noticed our evil jealousy, or worse, our laziness. We then lie across the couch facedown and mumble to God to forgive us because we are secretly afraid He is going to dry up all our words because we envied another man’s stupid words. And for this, as I said, we are paid a dollar. We are worth so much more.

Donald Miller (via writingquotes)

[shewritesalone-blog]

She buried her ears into the calm of his heartbeat, and in a matter of seconds: fell terribly in love with the way her loneliness fell softly and suddenly, asleep, in his chest.

Christopher Poindexter (via thesoutherly)