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I had to learn compassion. Had to learn what it felt like to hate, and to forgive and to love and be loved. And to lose people close to me. Had to feel deep loneliness and sorrow. And then I could write.

Louise Penny

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Louise Penny
Age: 66
Born: 1958
Born: July 1
Author
Journalist
Novelist
Writer
City of Toronto
People
Hate
Sorrow
Write
Compassion
Felt
Close
Feel
Deep
Feels
Lose
Writing
Loved
Forgive
Love
Loses
Loneliness
Like
Learn
Forgiving

More quotes by Louise Penny

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The four sayings that lead to wisdom: I was wrong I'm sorry I don't know I need help
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Every decade of my life I attempted to write a novel. But I had nothing to say. I was far too self-absorbed, and now I realize I was writing for others, so that they'd applaud me, see my genius, tell me how wonderful I am, or be jealous of my success.
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Let every man shovel out his own snow, and the whole city will be passable, said Gamache. Seeing Beauvoir's puzzled expression he added, Emerson. Lake and Palmer? Ralph and Waldo.
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I've seen enough successful writers who no longer seem to care when they are recognized with an award, and I think that's just tragic.
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What people mistook for safety was in fact captivity.
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The night is a strawberry.
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Her voice was slightly accented but her French was perfect. Someone who'd not just learned the language but loved it. And it showed with every syllable. Gamache knew it was impossible to split language from culture. That without one the other withered. To love the language was to respect the culture.
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Life is change. If you aren't growing and evolving, you're standing still, and the rest of the world is surging ahead.
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No good ever comes from putting up walls. What people mistake for safety is in fact captivity. And few things thrive in captivity.
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Now here's a good one: you're lying on your deathbed. You have one hour to live. Who is it, exactly, you have needed all these years to forgive?
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The women in the room chatted about love, about childhood, about losing parents, about Mr. Spock, about good books they'd read. They mothered each other.
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How much more courage it took to be kind than to be cruel.
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Foolish people are never harmless. Stupidity accounts for as many crimes as anger and greed.
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I'm just like this. I have no talent for choosing my battles. Life seems, strangely, like a battle to me. The whole thing.
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Winning doesn't mean my book is better than anyone else's. It means I'm very fortunate. And I should be very, very aware of that. And grateful.
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What haunted people even, perhaps especially, on their deathbed? What chased them, tortured them and brought some of them to their knees? And [he] thought he had the answer. Regret. Regret for things said, things done, and things not done. Regret for the people they might have been. And failed to be.
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Aid workers, when handing out food to starving people, quickly learn that the people fighting for it at the front are the people who need it least. It's the people sitting quietly at the back, too weak to fight, who need it the most. And so too with tragedy.
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Or - perhaps - I should just worry about my own behavior and let others be who they are.
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In winter the very ground seemed to reach up and grab the elderly, yanking them to earth as though hungry for them.
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Myrna could spend happy hours browsing bookcases. She felt if she could just get a good look at a person’s bookcase and their grocery cart, she’d pretty much know who they were.
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