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I know only enough of God to want to worship him, by any means ready to hand.

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
Means
Hands
Enough
Mean
Worship
Ready
Hand

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I alternate between thinking of the planet as home - dear and familiar stone hearth and garden - and as a hard land of exile in which we are all sojourners.
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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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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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if you stay still, earth buries you, ready or not.
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Like any child, I slid into myself perfectly fitted, as a diver meets her reflection in a pool. Her fingertips enter the fingertips on the water, her wrists slide up her arms. The diver wraps herself in her reflection wholly, sealing it at the toes, and wears it as she climbs rising from the pool, and ever after.
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We live in all we seek.
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The creatures I seek do not want to be seen.
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Evolution loves death more than it loves you or me. This is easy to write, easy to read, and hard to believe.
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Why do we people in churches seem like cheerful, brainless tourists on a packaged tour of the Absolute?
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Private life, book life, took place where words met imagination without passing through the world.
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A schedule defends from chaos and whim. A net for catching days.
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Hone and spread your spirit till you yourself are a sail, whetted, translucent, broadside to the merest puff.
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Write about winter in the summer.
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The universe that suckled us is a monster that does not care if we live or die--it does not care if it itself grinds to a halt. It is a beast running on chance and death, careening from nowhere to nowhere. It is fixed and blind, a robot programmed to kill. We are free and seeing we can only try to outwit it at every turn to save our lives.
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Even if things are as bad as they could possible be, and as meaningless, then matters of truth are themselves indifferent we may as well please our sensibilities and, with as much spirit as we can muster, go out with a buck and a wing.
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If you're going to publish a book, you probably are going to make a fool of yourself.
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She read books as one would breathe air, to fill up and live.
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I still try to keep my eyes open. I'm always on the lookout for antlion traps in sandy soil, monarch pupae near milkweed, skipper larvae in locust leaves. These things are utterly common, and I've not seen one
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We live half our waking lives and all of our sleeping lives in some private, useless, and insensible waters we never mention or recall.
Annie Dillard
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I woke in bits, like all children, piecemeal over the years. I discovered myself and the world, and forgot them, and discovered them again.
Annie Dillard