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In a world of sorrow, love was an act of will. All you needed were the right ingredients.

Alice Hoffman

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Alice Hoffman
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: March 16
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
New York City
New York
Ingredients
Sorrow
Needed
Right
Love
World

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I've been a screenwriter for twenty-five years. Every one of my books have been optioned for movies and I have written a few of those screenplays.
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Most people know that Ray Bradbury is one of my favorite authors.
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There was the blue sky above her and all those many roses, the ones that gave off the scent of cloves in the rain and the ones that left a trace of lemon on your fingers, the ones that were the color of blood, and those that were as white as clouds. Each one was sweeter than the next and as red as gemstones.
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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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Some things you cannot wish away or think away. They become part of you when you remember them.
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I think secrets often come out. I spoke to a friend who is a therapist and I asked her if there were people who came to her and admitted to doing horrible things and she said, 'More than you know.'.
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I never see a novel as a film while I'm writing it. Mostly because novels and films are so different, and I'm such an internal novelist
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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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Even in times when it's difficult to figure out, how do you go forward, art - and books - always help
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This was what it meant to be human, to know that time moved and all things changed.
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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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Holding a tear back makes them drain upward, higher and higher, until one day your head just explodes and you're left with a stub of a neck and nothing more.
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All the characters in my books are imagined, but all have a bit of who I am in them - much like the characters in your dreams are all formed by who you are
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I wept to think that life went on even when so much had been lost, that rain still fell and myrtle grew between the rocks.
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I can hurt myself more than anyone else can, she told her sister. I can do it with my eyes closed.
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Others said May was best, that sweet green time when lilacs bloomed and gardens along Main Street were filled with sugary pink peonies and Dutch tulips.
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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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What men yearn for they often destroy.
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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.
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I feel as if when you love a book it becomes a part of you whether you have it on your shelves or not.
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