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I couldn't unpeach the peaches.

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
Peaches
Couldn

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Spend the afternoon. You can't take it with you.
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Just once I wanted a task that required all the joy I had. Day after day I had noticed that if I waited long enough, my strong unexpressed joy would dwindle and dissipate inside me, like a fire subsiding . . . . Just this once I wanted to let it rip.
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The irrational haunts the metaphysical.
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The universe was not made in jest but in solemn incomprehensible earnest.
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Silence is not our heritage but our destiny we live where we want to live.
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It was less like seeing than like being for the first time seen, knocked breathless by a powerful glance.
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I wake expectant, hoping to see a new thing.
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I'd seen a great many partial eclipses, but a partial eclipse has the same relation to a total eclipse as flirting with a man does to marrying him. It's completely different.
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The more you read, the more you will write. The better the stuff you read, the better the stuff you will write.
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When you write, you lay out a line of words. Soon you find yourself deep in new territory.
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No, the point is not only does time fly and do we die, but that in these reckless conditions we live at all, and are vouchsafed, for the duration of certain inexplicable moments, to know it.
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Time is the continuous loop, the snakeskin with scales endlessly overlapping without beginning or end, or time is an ascending spiral if you will, like a child's toy Slinky.
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We have not yet encountered any god who is as merciful as a man who flicks a beetle over on its feet.
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Nature's silence is its one remark, and every flake of world is a chip off that old mute and immutable block.
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Nothing moves a woman so deeply as the boyhood of the man she loves.
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I think it would be well, and proper, and obedient, and pure, to grasp your one necessity and not let it go, to dangle from it limp wherever it takes you.
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Every live thing is a survivor on a kind of extended emergency bivouac.
Annie Dillard
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No child on earth was ever meant to be ordinary, and you can see it in them, and they know it, too, but then the times get to them, and the wear out their brains learning what folks expect, and spend their strength trying to rise over those same folks.
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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.
Annie Dillard
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By dipping us children in the Bible so often, they hoped, I think, to give our lives a serious tint, and to provide us with quaintly magnificent snatches of prayer to produce as charms while, say, being mugged for our cash or jewels.
Annie Dillard