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I wake expectant, hoping to see a new thing.

Annie Dillard

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Annie Dillard
Age: 79
Born: 1945
Born: April 30
Author
Essayist
Novelist
Poet
University Teacher
Writer
Pittsburg
Pennsylvania
Annie Dillard Doak
Expectant
Hoping
Recovery
Addiction
Wake
Thing

More quotes by Annie Dillard

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I had good innings, as the British say. I wrote for 38 years at the top of my form, and I wanted to quit on a high note.
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It is difficult to undo our own damage, and to recall to our presence that which we have asked to leave. It is hard to desecrate a grove and change your mind. The very holy mountains are keeping mum. We doused the burning bush and cannot rekindle it we are lighting matches in vain under every green tree.
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I breathed the air of history all unaware, and walked oblivious through its littered layers.
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The way you live your days is the way you live your life.
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The way we live our days, is the way we live our lives.
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The mind itself is an art object ... The mind is a blue guitar on which we improvise the song of the world.
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Crystals grew inside rock like arithmetic flowers. They lengthened and spread, added plane to plane in an awed and perfect obedience to an absolute geometry that even stones - maybe only the stones - understood.
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Appealing workplaces are to be avoided. One wants a room with no view, so imagination can meet memory in the dark.
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We are most deeply asleep at the switch when we fancy we control any switches at all.
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Knowing you are alive is watching on every side your generation's short time falling away as fast as rivers drop through air, and feeling it hit.
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I break up through the skin of awareness a thousand times a day, as dolphins burst through seas, and dive again, and rise, and dive.
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There is no whit less enlightenment under the tree by your street than there was under the Buddha's bo tree. I invite you to go sit under that tree by your street.
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The universe was not made in jest but in solemn incomprehensible earnest.
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The real and proper question is: why is it beautiful?
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Write about winter in the summer.
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I come down to the water to cool my eyes. But everywhere I look I see fire that which isn't flint is tinder, and the whole world sparks and flames.
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It's a little silly to finally learn how to write at this age. But I long ago realized I was secretly sincere.
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The painter... does not fit the paints to the world. He most certainly does not fit the world to himself. He fits himself to the paint. The self is the servant who bears the paintbox and its inherited contents.
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Beauty and grace are performed whether or not we sense them.
Annie Dillard
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The world knew you before you knew the world.
Annie Dillard