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I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too.

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
World
Aging
Fallen
Eating
Along
Share
Nibbled
Getting
Frayed
Age
Eaten
Done
Survivor

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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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People who read are not too lazy to turn on the television they prefer books.
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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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A schedule is a mock-up of reason and order - willed, faked, and so brought into being.
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There is a muscular energy in sunlight corresponding to the spiritual energy of wind.
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Whenever an encounter between a writer of good will and a regular person of good will happens to touch on the subject of writing, each person discovers, dismayed, that good will is of no earthly use. The conversation cannot proceed.
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Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you.
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It should surprise no one that the life of the writer - such as it is - is colorless to the point of sensory deprivation. Many writers do little else but sit in small rooms recalling the real world.
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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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I couldn't unpeach the peaches.
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Writers serve as the memory of a people. They chew over our public past.
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I know only enough of God to want to worship him, by any means ready to hand.
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The silence is all there is. It is the alpha and the omega, it is God's brooding over the face of the waters it is the blinded note of the ten thousand things, the whine of wings. You take a step in the right direction to pray to this silence, and even to address the prayer to World. Distinctions blur. Quit your tents. Pray without ceasing.
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The dear, stupid body is as easily satisfied as a spaniel.
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Push it. examine all things intensely and relentlessly.
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You can't test courage cautiously.
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We are here on the planet only once, and might as well get a feel for the place.
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You search, you break your heart, your back, your brain, and then-and only then-it is handed to you.
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Every live thing is a survivor on a kind of extended emergency bivouac.
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Skin was earth it was soil. I could see, even on my own skin, the joined trapezoids of dust specks God had wetted and stuck with his spit the morning he made Adam from dirt. Now, all these generations later, we people could still see on our skin the inherited prints of the dust specks of Eden.
Annie Dillard