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And did I not think then, What nonsense it is to suppose one man so different from another when all that life really boils down to is getting a decent cup of coffee and room to stretch out in?

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
Life
Rooms
Boils
Getting
Stretch
Another
Cups
Different
Nonsense
Really
Decent
Men
Suppose
Think
Coffee
Thinking
Room

More quotes by Alice Munro

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The constant happiness is curiosity.
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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 used to feel for years and years and years that I was very remiss not to have written a novel and I would question people who wrote novels and try to find out how they did it and how they had got past page 30. Then, with the approach of old age, I began to just think: “Well, lucky I can do anything at all.
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My head was a magpie's nest lined with such bright scraps of information.
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There would never be any room in her for anything else. No room for anything but the realization of what she had done.
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Lovers. Not a soft word, as people thought, but cruel and tearing.
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In my own work, I tend to cover a lot of time and to jump back and forward in time, and sometimes the way I do this is not very straightforward.
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So what about me? Would I always have to find a high horse? The moral relish, the rising above, the being in the right, which can make me flaunt my losses.
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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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That's something I think is growing on me as I get older: happy endings.
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She was learning, quite late, what many people around her appeared to have known since childhood that life can be perfectly satisfying without major achievements.
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Life would be grand if it weren't for the people.
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Speculation can be more gentle, can take its time, when it is not driven by desire.
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The stories are not autobiographical, but they're personal in that way. I seem to know only the things that I've learned. Probably some things through observation, but what I feel I know surely is personal.
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She would live now, not read.
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It must have meant something, though, that at this turn of my life I grabbed up a book. Because it was in books that I would find, for the next few years, my lovers. They were men, not boys. They were self-possessed and sardonic, with a ferocious streak in them, reserves of gloom.
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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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Because if she let go of her grief even for a minute it would only hit her harder when she bumped into it again.
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people who believe in miracles do not make much fuss when they actually encounter one
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Never underestimate the meanness in people's souls... Even when they're being kind... especially when they're being kind.
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