Quote

--I truly and deeply wanted to kill him. And I believe I could have done it, with nothing but my hands. But all of a sudden, out of nowhere, Peter had an arm around me. Let it go, Kade, he was whispering very gently, though his arm was nearly crushing me. Open your fists, he said, and let go of the coals.

David James Duncan

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David James Duncan
Age: 72
Born: 1952
Born: January 1
Novelist
Portland
Oregon
Hands
Sudden
Crushing
Around
Nearly
Whispering
Wanted
Deeply
Gently
Nothing
Kill
Fists
Done
Truly
Coal
Believe
Arms
Crush
Open
Peter
Though
Nowhere
Coals

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... the best way to strip the allure and dreaminess from a lifelong dream is, very often, simply to have it come true.
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I'd taken a big fat crisis off my shoulders and loaded it all on Jesus, which seemed unfair in a way, but was exactly what the Bible recommended.
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I'd trapped myself in a script.... But to be scripted at all is to be prepackaged, programmed, pinned to a page. Only the unwritten can truly live a life. So who I was, what I was, had to be unwritten.
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Music is just a word for something we love largely because it consists of things that words can't express. Likewise, the heart is just a word for something in us that music sometimes touches.
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My books are inert as cordwood till a readers imagination ignites one and an old flame jumps to life.
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Punctuationally speaking, wonder is a period at the end of a statement we've long taken for granted, suddenly looking up and seeing the sinuous curve of a tall black hat on its head, and realizing it was a question mark all along.
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We hear nothing so clearly as what comes out of silence.
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And so I learned what solitude really was. It was raw material - awesome, malleable,older than men or worlds or water. And it was merciless - for it let a man become precisely what he alone made of himself.
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Ecosystems are holy. The word environmental is a deadly compromise itself. It's a policy word that lives only in the head, and barely there.
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Then in October, Indian Summer, the air turned so soft, the sunlight so fragile, and each day's loveliness so poignantly doomed that even self-ignorance and restlessness felt like profound states of being, and he just wandered the empty beaches and misty headlands in a state of serene confusion and awe.
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To me, it's a great day every time I receive a letter from somebody who climbed inside one of my books, inhabited it for a while, learned a little something, and emerged grateful.
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Is the work of sun worshippers to honor those who think they can see the sun? Or to worship the sun?
David James Duncan