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My grief was cold. It was nothing to share. It was nothing to speak about, nothing to feel.

Alice Hoffman

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Alice Hoffman
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: March 16
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
New York City
New York
Grief
Cold
Share
Speak
Nothing
Feel
Feels

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I can't really work on more than one thing at a time
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They weren't true stories they were better than that.
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I loved him even now, as he took a knife to my throat, as I drowned in blood, as I whispered Cousin, you were wrong. We were born to live.
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Outside, the September air was enticingly fragrant, yellow with pollen and rich, lemony sunlight.
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When all is said and done, the weather and love are the two elements about which one can never be sure.
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Another world must surely exist somewhere one where she would be known in some deep way that was far beyond words.
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I never plot out my novels in terms of the tone of the book. Hopefully, once a story is begun it reveals itself
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A boy who is trouble is something entirely different as a man.
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Mothers always find ways to fit in the work - but then when you're working, you feel that you should be spending time with your children and then when you're with your children, you're thinking about working.
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How could I have been so stupid to ignore everything I’d had in my life? The color red alone was worth kingdoms.
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He believed in dreams, in endings that people told you could never happen, in disappointments reversed and luck that lasted.
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I wasn't good company, that was true, and people avoided me, but that was all right. I was too busy dreaming.
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Certain things need not be said, and there’s nothing, not a whisper, prayer, not a sacrifice, not a payment of any price, that would change what’s about to happen.
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Any institution becomes a community - whether it's a high school or a boarding school or a publishing company or a small town where everybody knows certain things about people.
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I heard a sigh, as though the books were breathing. I felt that this was where I belonged. This was where I lived.
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Feel lucky for what you have when you have it. Isn't that the point? Happily ever after doesn't mean happy forever. The ever after, what precisely was that? Your dreams, your life, your death, your everything. Was it the blank space that went on without us? The forever after we were gone?
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Every time I finish a book, I forget everything I learned writing it - the information just disappears out of my head
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My grandmother was overwhelmed by what was happening to us. She ahd moved back into the past because the here and the now was too terrible.
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It was a great escape for me and it was a way to take a break from what was going on in my own world, to go into another world.
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I feel like my eyes are killing me at the end of the day and that I shouldn't use them.
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