Quote

But enough is enough. One turns at last even from glory itself with a sigh of relief. From the depths of mystery, and even from the heights of splendor, we bounce back and hurry for the latitudes of home.

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
Mystery
Splendor
Turns
Hurry
Lasts
Depths
Last
Sigh
Home
Height
Latitudes
Back
Relief
Latitude
Enough
Depth
Heights
Even
Glory
Bounce

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The mind wants the world to return its love, or its awareness the mind wants to know all the world, and all eternity, and God.
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Unfortunately, nature is very much a now-you-see-it, now-you-don't affair. A fish flashes, then dissolves in the water before my eyes like so much salt. Deer apparently ascend bodily into heaven the brightest oriole fades into leaves.
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There is neither a proportional relationship, nor an inverse one, between a writer’s estimation of a work in progress & its actual quality. The feeling that the work is magnificent, & the feeling that it is abominable, are both mosquitoes to be repelled, ignored, or killed, but not indulged.
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When I teach, I preach. I thump the Bible. I exhort my students morally. I talk to them about the dedicated life.
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The world is wider in all directions, more dangerous and bitter, more extravagant and bright. We are making hay when we should be making whoopee we are raising tomatoes when we should be raising Cain and Lazarus.
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Why are we reading, if not in hope of beauty laid bare, life heightened and its deepest mystery probed?
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A writer looking for subjects inquires not after what he loves best, but after what he alone loves at all.
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Cruelty is a mystery, and a waste of pain.
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Doing something does not require discipline. It creates its own discipline - with a little help from caffeine.
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Just think: in all the clean, beautiful reaches of the solar system, our planet alone is a blot our planet alone has death.
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The secret is not to write about what you love best, but about what you, alone, love at all.
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A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order - willed, faked, and so brought into being.
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Art is like an ill-trained Labrador retriever that drags you out into traffic.
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The way to learn about a writer is to read the text. Or texts.
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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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If we were to judge nature by common sense or likelihood, we wouldn't believe the world existed.
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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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These are our few live seasons. Let us live them as purely as we can, in the present.
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Silence is not our heritage but our destiny we live where we want to live.
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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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