Quote

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.

Gregory Maguire

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Gregory Maguire
Age: 70
Born: 1954
Born: June 9
Novelist
Writer
Albany
New York
Activity
Meaning
Hear
Squirm
Voice
Burrow
Lives
Flung
Ends
Prophecy
Without
Graves
Life
Shouldn

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Just follow that one road the whole time!... I hope they don't get lost, I'm so bad at giving directions.
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I'm not a writer because I want to make money. I'm a writer because I'm a very slow thinker, but I do care about thinking, and the only way I know how to think with any kind of finesse is by telling stories.
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I like to think Im a pretty good-natured guy and pretty civil and probably not ever truly guilty in any serious way of any legal infractions.
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But his face had that hollow look, as if there was something gone... you know that look. The inward focus. Distantly attentive to the home you're missing, or the someone you're missing. That look that a bird has when it turns it dry reptilian eye on you. That look that doesn't see you because the mind is filled up with someone it would rather see.
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How poetic you are, she said. I've a notion that poetry is the highest form of self-deception.
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Light will blind us in time, but what we learn in the dark can see us through.
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No one controls your destiny. Even at the very worst - there is always choice.
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My first job was scooping ice cream at Friendly's in Albany, New York. I hated the work, most of my colleagues, and the uniform, and I more or less lost my taste for ice cream permanently.
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She dropped her shyness like a nightgown, and in the liquid glare of sunlight on old boards she held up her hands-as if, in the terror of the upcoming skirmish, she had at last understood that she was beautiful. In her own way.
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I am a forgettable leaf on a tree.
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So he stalked her again. Love makes hunters of us all.
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Sorrow has a name, and its name is loneliness. Sorrow has a shape, and its shape is absence. Sorrow is a sickness like any other.
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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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I may not know how to fly but I know how to read, and that's almost the same thing.
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She is no longer I, she is too long ago, she is only she.
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Some said the original evil was the vacuum caused by the Fairy Queen Lurline leaving us alone here. When goodness removes itself, the space it occupies corrodes and becomes evil and maybe slpits apart and multiplies. So every evil thing is a sign of the absence of deity
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That's the real power of art, I think. Not to chide but to provoke challenge. Otherwise why bother?
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It appears history is going to keep happening, despite our hopes for retirement.
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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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You confuse not speaking with not listening.
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