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It’s the place of the story, beginning here, in the meadow of late summer flowers, thriving before the Atlantic storms drive wet and winter upon them all.

Gregory Maguire

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Gregory Maguire
Age: 70
Born: 1954
Born: June 9
Novelist
Writer
Albany
New York
Late
Wet
Story
Flowers
Upon
Storm
Place
Drive
Meadow
Stories
Winter
Thriving
Summer
Atlantic
Flower
Meadows
Beginning
Storms

More quotes by Gregory Maguire

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Only he with the hobbled foot fully knows the beauty of running. Only he with the severed ear can apprehend what the sweetest music must sound like. Our ailments complete us.
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To look into the mirror is to see the future, in blood and rubies.
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Wrong takes an awful long time to be proven, in my experience.
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When the times are a crucible, when the air is full of crisis, those who are the most themselves are the victims.
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If one could drown in the grass, thought Elphie, that might be the best way to die.
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The future reshapes the memory of the past in the way it recalibrates significance some episodes are advanced, others lose purchase.
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Behold the male beast roaring in the jungle for his mate, said Elphaba. See how the female beast giggles behind a shrub while she organizes her face to say, Pardon dear, did you say something?
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Remember this: Nothing is written in the stars. Not these stars, nor any others. No one controls your destiny.
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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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The wickedness of men is that their power breeds stupidity and blindness.
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All our lives are activity without meaning we burrow ratlike into life and we squirm ratlike through it and ratlike we are flung into our graves at the end. Now and then, why shouldn't we hear a voice of prophecy.
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So let my hands and my face make their way in this world, let my hungry eyes see, my tongue taste.
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The answer of course, is that the clock isn't meant to measure earthly time, but the time of the soul. Redemption and condemnation time. For the soul, each instant is always a minute short of judgment.
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If you have an ancestor who is a Benedictine monk, we would rather not know it.
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Galinda didn't often stop to consider whether she believed in what she said or not the whole point of conversations was flow.
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In the end, all disguises must drop.
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My job is to protect you, Lady Glinda even if you are loosing your mind.
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Skibbereen have a hard time at [math] the best that the smartest of them can do with adding two plus two is guessing: three plus one. Correct, sort of, but not always useful.
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As long as people are going to call you lunatic anyway, why not get the benefit of it? It liberates you from convention.
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I wouldn't mind leaving myself behind if I could, but I don't know the way out.
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