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I didn’t want to be prideful anymore. I wanted to be as hard as and brittle as the stones I carted into the woods. Stones that could not feel or cry or see. I wished not to feel anything at all. In no time, what I wished for, I became.

Alice Hoffman

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Alice Hoffman
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: March 16
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
New York City
New York
Feels
Anymore
Time
Cry
Became
Didn
Prideful
Anything
Brittle
Wanted
Wished
Hard
Woods
Feel
Stones

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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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You cannot dispute the ridiculous. You cannot argue reasonably with evil.
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You don't fight for peace sister,' Nahara told me, 'You embrace it.
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People hide their truest nature. I understood that I even applauded it. What sort of world would it be if people bled all over the sidewalks, if they wept under trees, smacked whomever they despised, kissed strangers, revealed themselves?
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Avoid men who call you Baby, and women who have no friends, and dogs that scratch at their bellies and refuse to lie down at your feet. Wear dark glasses bathe with lavender oil and cool fresh water. Seek shelter from the sun at noon.
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Here is the riddle of love: Everything it gives to you, it takes away.
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The grass he walked through was new and a sweet smell clung to his clothes. There was blue dye on his hands from the wild irises... that the color of the sky was a shade that could never be replicated in any photograph, just as Heaven could never be seen from the confines of Earth.
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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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It was the sort of beauty you feel so deeply it becomes contagious and somehow makes you feel beautiful too.
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Do people choose the art that inspires them — do they think it over, decide they might prefer the fabulous to the real? For me, it was those early readings of fairy tales that made me who I was as a reader and, later on, as a storyteller.
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The adults don't know what's happening on the kids' universe and the kids don't know what's happening on the adults' universe
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I was beginning to understand.My grandmother's love was cold because she was afraid of thingsthat was why everything had to be perfect.
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Every fairy tale had a bloody lining. Every one had teeth and claws.
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Always keep mint on your windowsill in August, to ensure that buzzing flies will stay outside, where they belong. Don't think the summer is over, even when roses droop and turn brown and the stars shift position in the sky. Never presume August is a safe or reliable time of the year.
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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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Unrequited love is so boring. Weeping under a blue-black sky is for suckers or maniacs.
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