Quote

I work mornings only. I go out to lunch. Afternoons I play with the baby, walk with my husband, or shovel mail.

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
Work
Afternoon
Lunch
Husband
Baby
Afternoons
Walk
Shovel
Walks
Shovels
Morning
Mornings
Play
Mail

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The universe was not made in jest but in solemn incomprehensible earnest.
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Books swept me away, this way and that, one after the other I made endless vows according to their lights for I believed them.
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We are most deeply asleep at the switch when we fancy we control any switches at all.
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You do not have to sit outside in the dark. If, however, you want to look at the stars, you will find that darkness is necessary. But the stars neither require nor demand it.
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I do not so much write a book as sit up with it, as a dying friend. I hold its hand and hope it will get better.
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A schedule defends from chaos and whim. A net for catching days.
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The dedicated life is worth living. You must give with your whole heart.
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At its best, the sensation of writing is that of any unmerited grace. It is handed to you, but only if you look for it.
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I couldn't unpeach the peaches.
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We live in all we seek. The hidden shows up in too-plain sight. It lives captive on the face of the obvious - the people, events, and things of the day - to which we as sophisticated children have long since become oblivious. What a hideout: Holiness lies spread and borne over the surface of time and stuff like color.
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Wherever we go, there seems to be only one business at hand - that of finding workable compromises between the sublimity of our ideas and the absurdity of the fact of us.
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A shepherd on a hilltop who looks at a mess of stars and thinks, ‘There’s a hunter, a plow, a fish,’ is making mental connections that have as much real force in the universe as the very fires in those stars themselves.
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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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A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days. It is a scaffolding on which a worker can stand and labor with both hands at sections of time.
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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.
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Almost all of my many passionate interests, and my many changes of mind, came through books. Books prompted the many vows I made to myself.
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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 sensation of writing a book is the sensation of spinning, blinded by love and daring. It is the sensation of a stunt pilot's turning barrel rolls, or an inchworm's blind rearing from a stem in search of a route. At its worst, it feels like alligator wrestling, at the level of the sentence.
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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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