Quote

In losing a friend, she is reminded of all she has lost and all she stands to lose again. There is nothing to be done to make it any easier. We all grieve alone.

Alice Hoffman

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Alice Hoffman
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: March 16
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
New York City
New York
Lose
Loses
Grieve
Alone
Reminded
Lost
Grieving
Nothing
Stands
Done
Losing
Make
Friend
Easier

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Maybe some love was guaranteed. Maybe it fit inside you and around you like skin and bones.
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They weren't true stories they were better than that.
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I wrote to find beauty and purpose, to know that love is possible and lasting and real.... Once I got to my desk, once I started writing, I still believed anything was possible.
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Sometimes they would sit in the parlor together, both reading – in entirely separate worlds, to be sure, but joined somehow. When this happened, other people in the family couldn't bring themselves to disturb them. All that could be heard in the parlor was the sound of pages, turning.
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I think growing up is difficult and it's a process that I'm always interested in, with kids and adults, they are often on two different universes.
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Still, I couldn't help but wonder if it was a mistake for people like us to be tied to a place. If we weren't meant to be ready and willing to wander. If everything we needed was contained in who we were. And what we remember.
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Fairytales were maps formed of blood and hair and bones they were the knots of the sub-conscious unwound. Every word in every tale was real and as true as apples and stones. They all led to the story inside the story.
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There are some things, after all, that Sally Owens knows for certain: Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Plant roses and lavender, for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.
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What else is there to write about than love and loss?
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My sorrow is I used to read all the time and now, as a writer, I don't have the time to read.
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You build your world around someone, and then what happens when he disappears? Where do you go-into pieces, into atoms, into the arms of another man? You go shopping, you cook dinner, you work odd hours, you make love to someone else on June nights. But you're not really there.
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She didn't like being twelve. It felt like someplace between who she'd been and who she was about to be. It felt like no place at all.
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I read The Group by Mary McCarthy. It had tons of sex in it, or so I thought at the time.
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Love was like that, like a dream you didn't quite understand, one in which you didn't necessarily know what you were looking at until it was right in front of you.
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If we had paid attention, we would have understood there are some things in this world you cannot outrun.
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My mother, Abra, had taught me that all people are made from the same dust. When our days here are gone, all men and women enter the same garden.
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My darling girl, when are you going to realize that being normal is not necessarily a virtue? It rather denotes a lack of courage. - Aunt Frances
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It was as though I had one map inside my head and it led to the man who was waiting for me. Someone who was alone - maybe even more alone - than I was.
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What was a rose but the living proof of desire, the single best evidence of human longing and earthly devotion. but desire could be twisted,after all, and Jealousy was the name of the rose that did well in arid souls.
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Weapons are kept from women, but such a naming suggests that perhaps men fear our talents in war as well as our desire for peace.
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