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Here is the riddle of love: Everything it gives to you, it takes away.

Alice Hoffman

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Alice Hoffman
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: March 16
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
New York City
New York
Everything
Giving
Love
Riddle
Gives
Takes
Away

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Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights was extremely important to me.
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She can feel his blood, just beneath his skin when he breathes, the air fills with smoke. He's like a dragon, ancient and fearless.
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Cleaning up after themselves was a low priority for Margo and my mother. They had both recovered from cancer scares, failed marriages, and lost hope in their opinion, dirt could wait.
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She didn't like being twelve. It felt like someplace between who she'd been and who she was about to be. It felt like no place at all.
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I always quit at three when my kids come home from school so I feel pretty spoiled
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Our rest is formed by our waking life and our waking life is formed by our sorrows.
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Love was like that, like a dream you didn't quite understand, one in which you didn't necessarily know what you were looking at until it was right in front of you.
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When I looked at her, she appeared to be a different person from the one I'd known... She had rewritten everything, our history together, our friendship. Now I was the girl who'd stolen Andres the girl who'd lied to her about who I was. Therefore, she owned me nothing.
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He stepped off the pavement like a man jumping off a bridge, as calm as a swimmer with an ocean out below. Lucy had known what he was going to do the instant their eyes met. She'd know what he intended because she would have done the very same thing if she'd had his courage. Nothing was going to break his fall.
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You have to choose the voice you are going to trust. You can't listen to everyone.
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Some things, when they change, never do return to the way they once were. Butterflies for instance, and women who've been in love with the wrong man too often.
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Are people drawn to each other because of the stories they carry inside?
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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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What was a rose but the living proof of desire, the single best evidence of human longing and earthly devotion. but desire could be twisted,after all, and Jealousy was the name of the rose that did well in arid souls.
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What else is there to write about than love and loss?
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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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I must keep my head and not give in to desire, for desire is what causes women to drown.
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He was in love, and people in that condition did stupid, unfathomable things. They were all flawed, every single one.
Alice Hoffman
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Fairytales were maps formed of blood and hair and bones they were the knots of the sub-conscious unwound. Every word in every tale was real and as true as apples and stones. They all led to the story inside the story.
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The sky is already purple the first few stars have appeared, suddenly, as if someone had thrown a handful of silver across the edge of the world.
Alice Hoffman