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Because if she let go of her grief even for a minute it would only hit her harder when she bumped into it again.

Alice Munro

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Alice Munro
Age: 93
Born: 1931
Born: January 1
Author
Journalist
Novelist
Screenwriter
Short Story Writer
Writer
Wingham
Ontario
Alice Ann Munro
Alice Ann Laidlaw
Alice Ann Laidlaw Munro
Alice Laidlaw
Alice Anne Munro
Minute
Grief
Harder
Minutes
Even
Would
Bumped

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Love removes the world for you, and just as surely when it's going well as when it's going badly.
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A story is not like a road to follow... it's more like a house. You go inside and stay there for a while, wandering back and forth and settling where you like and discovering how the room and corridors relate to each other, how the world outside it altered by being viewed from these windows.
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You cannot let your parents anywhere near your real humiliations.
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Few people, very few, have a treasure, and if you do you must hang onto it. You must not let yourself be waylaid, and have it taken from you.
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People’s lives, in Jubilee as elsewhere, were dull, simple, amazing, and unfathomable – deep caves paved with kitchen linoleum.
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Speculation can be more gentle, can take its time, when it is not driven by desire.
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I can't play bridge. I don't play tennis. All those things that people learn, and I admire, there hasn't seemed time for. But what there is time for is looking out the window.
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There were people whom you positively ached to please. If you failed with such people they would put you into a category in their minds where they could kee you and have contempt for you forever.
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It's as if tendencies that seem most deeply rooted in our minds, most private and singular, have come in as spores on the prevailing wind, looking for any likely place to land, any welcome.
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I felt in him what women feel in men, something so tender, swollen, tyrannical, absurd I would never take the consequences of interfering with it.
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I loved taking off. In my own house, I seemed to be often looking for a place to hide - sometimes from the children but more often from the jobs to be done and the phone ringing and the sociability of the neighborhood. I wanted to hide so that I could get busy at my real work, which was a sort of wooing of distant parts of myself.
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What she wants to do if she can get the time to do it, is not so much to live in the past as to open it up and get one good look at it.
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People have thoughts they’d sooner not have. It happens in life.
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I would have a flick of fear, as in a dream when you find yourself in the wrong building or have forgotten the time for the exam and understand that this is only the tip of some shadowy cataclysm or lifelong mistake.
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people who believe in miracles do not make much fuss when they actually encounter one
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Life would be grand if it weren't for the people.
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The images, the language, of pornography, and romance are alike monotonous and mechanically seductive, quickly leading to despair.
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I read a book called The Art of Loving. A lot of things seemed clear while I was reading it but afterwards I went back to being more or less the same.
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And now such a warm commotion, such busy love.
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They were all in their early thirties. An age at which it is sometimes hard to admit that what you are living is your life.
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