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...and so many orchards circled the village that on some crisp October afternoons the whole wold smelled like pie.
Alice Hoffman
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Alice Hoffman
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: March 16
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
New York City
New York
Like
Smelled
Orchard
Pie
Wold
October
Circled
Afternoon
Orchards
Village
Afternoons
Whole
Crisp
Many
Crisps
More quotes by Alice Hoffman
I also like the whole idea of fairy tales and folk tales being a woman's domain, considered a lesser domain at the time they were told.
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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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I thought of the bowl of water my mother taught me to look into. It was true, everything a person ever needed to know was right there in a single bowl small enough to fit in the palm of one hand.
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What you dream, you can grow. Someone told me that, but I didn't believe it. I said I had nothing and that people with nothing are unable to dream. But I was wrong.
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But what we are given is taken as well, so that we know God's glory comes to us from His will alone.
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This day is going to be awful. It's the sort of day you wouldn't mind losing completely, even if it meant your life would be twenty-four hours shorter.
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A boy who is trouble is something entirely different as a man.
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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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When I walk, I walk with you. Where I go, you're with me always.
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Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights was extremely important to me.
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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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He believed in dreams, in endings that people told you could never happen, in disappointments reversed and luck that lasted.
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Here is the riddle of love: Everything it gives to you, it takes away.
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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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She was disappearing a little more each day, so thin, so frail, a wisp of smoke. One day she would surely vanish altogether, and there was no way to stop her.
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My grief was cold. It was nothing to share. It was nothing to speak about, nothing to feel.
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At midnight the wind in the tress can sound like the ocean. The moonlight can make a road appear as endless as the sea.
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Outside, the September air was enticingly fragrant, yellow with pollen and rich, lemony sunlight.
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I read everything of Ray Bradbury when I was 12 or 13, and I think that's the most effective time to read Bradbury. He built such a moral world, where you have to make decisions and grow up.
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He wanted pain, I saw that in him, and what a man wants he will often manage to find.
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