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Loneliness is an aspect of the land.

N. Scott Momaday

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N. Scott Momaday
Age: 90
Born: 1934
Born: February 27
Author
Novelist
University Teacher
Writer
Lawton
Oklahoma
Navarre Scott Momaday
Navarre Scott Momaday
N.Scott Momaday
Loneliness
Aspect
Land

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I wonder if, in the dark night of the sea, the octopus dreams of me.
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My line of vision was such that the creature filled the moon like a fossil. It had gone there, I thought, to live and die, for there, of all places, was its small definition made whole and eternal
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There was only the dark infinity in which nothing was. And something happened. At the distance of a star something happened, and everything began. The Word did not come into being, but it was. It did not break upon the silence, but it was older than the silence and the silence was made of it.
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To look upon that landscape in the early morning, with the sun at your back, is to lose the sense of proportion.
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I sometimes think the contemporary white American is more culturally deprived than the Indian.
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Once in his life a man ought to concentrate his mind upon the remembered earth. He ought to give himself up to a particular landscape in his experience to look at it from as many angles as he can, to wonder upon it, and dwell upon it.
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Anything is bearable if you can make a story out of it.
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My father was a painter and he taught art. He once said to me, 'I never knew an Indian child who could not draw.'
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A word has power in and of itself. It comes from nothing into sound and meaning it gives origin to all things.
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I have a pretty good knowledge of the Indian world by virtue of living on several different reservations and being exposed to several different cultures and languages.
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Words were medicine they were magic and invisible. They came from nothing into sound and meaning. They were beyond price they could neither be bought nor sold.
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In the beginning was the word, and it was spoken.
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Although my grandmother lived out her long life in the shadow of Rainy Mountian, the immense landscape of the continental interior lay like memory in her blood
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Indians are marvelous storytellers. In some ways, that oral tradition is stronger than the written tradition.
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For the storyteller, for the arrowmaker, language does indeed represent the only chance for survival.
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If you believe in the power of words, you can bring about physical changes in the universe.
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Her name is Ago, and she belonged to the last culture to evolve in North America.
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He used both hands when he made the bear. Imagine a bear proceeding from the hands of God.
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