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It's the only condition I know. Bitter Love, Loneliness, contempt for corruption, blind hope. It's where I live. A permanent state of bereavement. This is nothing new.

Gregory Maguire

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Gregory Maguire
Age: 70
Born: 1954
Born: June 9
Novelist
Writer
Albany
New York
Hope
Corruption
States
Permanent
Live
Bitter
Nothing
Loneliness
Love
Condition
Blind
Conditions
Bereavement
State
Contempt

More quotes by Gregory Maguire

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Perhaps family itself, like beauty, is temporary, and no discredit need attach to impermanence.
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Wishing is the beginning of imagination. They practice wishing when they are young things, and then -when they have grown - they have a developed imagination. Which can do some harm - greed, that kind of thing - but more often does them some good. They can imagine that things might be different. Might be other than they seem. Could be better.
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So he stalked her again. Love makes hunters of us all.
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We only have babies when we're young enough not to know how grim life turns out. Once we really get the full measure of it--we're slow learners, we women--we dry up in disgust and sensibly halt production.
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Small steps to the madhouse still get us there at last
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You're fun to look at, decided Galinda. Boq's face fell. Fun? he said. I'd give a lot to achieve fun, Elphaba said. The best I usually hope for is stirring, and when people say that they're usually referring to digestion-
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Birds know themselves not to be at the center of anything, but at the margins of everything. The end of the map. We only live where someone's horizon sweeps someone else's. We are only noticed on the edge of things but on the edge of things, we notice much.
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Approval is overrated...Approval and disapproval alike satisfy those who deliver it more than those who receive it. I don't care for approval, and I don't mind doing without.
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I do love to sing. Had I a longer set of thigh bones and a sweeter voice, I should have loved to be a performer.
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In the end, all disguises must drop.
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In summer moonlight, she was dangerously, inebriatingly magnified.
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They'd never been lovers, of course, not in the physical sense. But they'd been lovers as most of us manage, loving through expressions and gestures and the palm set softly upon the bruise at the necessary moment. Lovers by inclination rather than by lust. Lovers, that is, by love.
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He had thought love as a policy made a lot of sense for those who could manage it, and anyone who could manage it belonged in religious life. The rest of us have to struggle with more ordinary love, the common or garden variety: love as a crippling condition. Love as a syndrome.
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So she listened hard. And she began to evolve, because stories work their magic that way. They build conviction and erode conviction in equal measure.
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When the dawn light is coursing through the slats in the shutters at last, making thin stripes on the floor, she, tossing, decides that for every human soul there must surely be a possible childhood worth living, but once it slips by, there isn’t any reclaiming it or revising it.
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The world unwraps itself to you, again and again as soon as you are ready to see it anew.
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Starlight and comet tails burned the tips of endless grass below into hammered silver. Like thousands of tapers in the chapel, just blown out but still glowing. If one could drown in the grass...it might be the best way to die.
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Little critters fried like fritters come out crunchy and divine.
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If you have an ancestor who is a Benedictine monk, we would rather not know it.
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Even God used silence as a strategy.
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