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We stood and watched as God abandoned us, and then we did the best we could.

Alice Hoffman

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Alice Hoffman
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: March 16
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
New York City
New York
Abandoned
Watched
Stood
Best

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Women know things that men will never know. We keep the best secrets. We tell the best stories.
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I'm much faster now. When you only have a certain amount of time to write, after a while you learn to use your time well or you stop writing
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Every time someone forgets, someone else disappears,' my brother wrote.
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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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You don't fight for peace sister,' Nahara told me, 'You embrace it.
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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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Even as a small child, I understood that woman had secrets, and that some of these were only to be told to daughters. In this way we were bound together for eternity.
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She was so busy forgetting, she couldn't take a single step into the future.
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Young people believe that regret is something you will never feel if you simply do as you please, but sometimes it is a matter of degree.
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What people read revealed so much about them that she considered our card catalog a treasure house of privileged secrets each card contained the map of an individual’s soul.
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No one knows how to write a novel until it's been written
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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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Margaret thought of all she knew for certain, that day would always follow night that love was never wasted nor was it lost.
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Real love, after all, was worth the price you paid, however briefly it might last.
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The nature of love had totally escaped her until now. She had thought that if you lost it, you could never get it back, like a stone thrown down a well. But it was like the water at the bottom of the well, there when you can't even see it, shifting in the dark.
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Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights was extremely important to me.
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I hate it when people tell me the end of the story because my mother always read the last page of a novel first to see whether she wanted to read it. It was a strange reading habit.
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We had to survive to remember. Otherwise everything we were would disappear. Those people we loved would fade as though we'd never loved them, as if they'd never walked and talked and burned, forgetting them was the real evil. That was the hole of darkness.
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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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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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