Quote

The images, the language, of pornography, and romance are alike monotonous and mechanically seductive, quickly leading to despair.

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
Language
Seductive
Pornography
Alike
Leading
Images
Romance
Quickly
Mechanically
Despair
Monotonous

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I never have a problem with finding material. I wait for it to turn up, and it always turns up. It’s dealing with the material I’m inundated with that poses the problem.
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Children of course are monstrously conventional, repelled at once by whatever is off-center, out of whack, unmanageable. And being an only child I had been coddled a good deal (also scolded). I was awkward, precocious, timid, full of my private rituals and aversions.
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Who can ever say the perfect thing to the poet about his poetry?
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This is the way you look at the poorest details of the world resurfaced, after you've been driving for a long time -- you feel their singleness and precise location and the forlorn coincidence of you being there to see them.
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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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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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For years and years I thought that stories were just practice, till I got time to write a novel.
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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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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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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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The story fails but your faith in the importance of doing the story doesn't fail.
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Lovers. Not a soft word, as people thought, but cruel and tearing.
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I knew I would be famous one day. That's because I lived in a very small town and nobody liked doing the same things I did, like writing.
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I despised their antics because I took life seriously and had a much more lofty and tender notion of romance. But I would have liked to get their attention just the same.
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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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It almost seemed as if there must be some random and of course unfair thrift in the emotional housekeeping of the world, if the great happiness--however temporary, however flimsy--of one person could come out of the great unhappiness of another.
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A story ... has a sturdy sense of itself of being built out of its own necessity, not just to shelter or beguile you.
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I saw how the forms of love might be maintained with a condemned person but with the love in fact measured and disciplined, because you have to survive. It could be done so discreetly that the object of such care would not suspect, any more than she would suspect the sentence of death itself.
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Why is it a surprise to find that people other than ourselves are able to tell lies?
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You cannot let your parents anywhere near your real humiliations.
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