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No one escapes the wilderness on the way to the promised land.

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
Land
Way
Escapes
Promised
Wilderness
Peaceful

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On plenty of days the writer can write three or four pages, and on plenty of other days he concludes he must throw them away.
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People who take photographs during their whole vacation won't remember their vacation. They'll only remember what photographs they took.
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Landscape consists in the multiple, overlapping intricacies and forms that exist in a given space at a moment in time.
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The irrational haunts the metaphysical.
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There were no formerly heroic times, and there was no formerly pure generation. There is no one here but us chickens, and so it has always been.
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The creatures I seek do not want to be seen.
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Nothing moves a woman so deeply as the boyhood of the man she loves.
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Your work is to keep cranking the flywheel that turns the gears that spin the belt in the engine of belief that keeps you and your desk in midair.
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Art is like an ill-trained Labrador retriever that drags you out into traffic.
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There is no such thing as an artist: there is only the world lit or unlit as the light allows. When the candle is burning, who looks at the wick? When the candle is out, who needs it?
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The surest sign of age is loneliness.
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I breathed the air of history all unaware, and walked oblivious through its littered layers.
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I couldn't unpeach the peaches.
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The creative process obtains in all creative acts. So if I'm painting suddenly I'll see something that I didn't see before.
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The point of going somewhere like the Napo River in Ecuador is not to see the most spectacular anything. It is simply to see what is there.
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Could two live that way? Could two live under the wild rose, and explore by the pond, so that the smooth mind of each is as everywhere present to the other, and as received and as unchallenged, as falling snow?
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Johnston's books are beautifully written and among the funniest I have ever read.
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The extravagant gesture is the very stuff of creation.
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Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you.
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Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery.
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