Quote

Whatever artistry may occur within the manuscript, the magic happens for me in the last draft. Whatever I have been resistant to say must finally be said. In the end, I see where my pencil has been leading me.

Terry Tempest Williams

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Terry Tempest Williams
Age: 69
Born: 1955
Born: September 8
Author
Essayist
Historian
Memoirist
Poet
Writer
Corona
California
Last
Pencils
Happens
Occur
Ends
Leading
Resistant
May
Finally
Manuscript
Must
Magic
Manuscripts
Within
Artistry
Whatever
Pencil
Lasts
Draft

More quotes by Terry Tempest Williams

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Once upon a time, when women were birds, there was the simple understanding that to sing at dawn, and to sing at dusk, was to heal the world through joy. The birds still remember what we have forgotten, that the world is meant to be celebrated.
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Revolution is not something outside of us, but inside us, begging for our engagement every single day.
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I am slowly, painfully discovering that my refuge is not found in my mother, my grandmother, of even the birds of Bear River. My refuge exists in my capacity to love. If I can learn to love death then I can begin to find refuge in change.
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Dying doesn't cause suffering. Resistance to dying does.
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The unexpected action of deep listening can create a space of transformation capable of shattering complacency and despair.
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We are taught not to trust our own experiences. Great Salt Lake teaches me experience is all we have.
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Who wants to be a goddess when we can be human? Perfection is a flaw disguised as control.
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Good writing must stay open to the questions and not fall prey to the pull of a polemic, otherwise, words simply become predictable, sentimental, and stale.
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It was fascinating listening to this wonderful biologist, Sarah Allen Miller, speak of her relationship to these beings for 20 years.
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There are times we have to put our body on the line for what we believe, for the injustices we see even within our own families.
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Greed is a deprivation of abundance, a hoarding, a constriction of energy.
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The pain that we feel when we are making love with someone is that we know it will end. It's that paradoxical response of joy and suffering.
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Pico Iyer describes his writing as intimate letters to a stranger, and I think that is what the writing process is. It begins with a question, and then you follow this path of exploration.
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I remember as a child, my grandmother read to me Silent Spring. It was incomprehensible to me that there could be a world without birdsong.
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The only thing I have done religiously in my life is keep a journal. I have hundreds of them, filled with feathers, flowers, photographs, and words - without locks, open on my shelves.
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We can try to kill all that is native, string it up by its hind legs for all to see, but spirit howls and wildness endures.
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The Eyes of the Future are looking back at us and they are praying for us to see beyond our own time.
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I know the struggle from the inside out and I would never be so bold as to call myself a writer. I think that is what other people call you. But I consider myself a member of a community in Salt Lake City, in Utah, in the American West, in this country. And writing is what I do. That is the tool out of which I can express my love.
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Is this the curse of modernity, to live in a world without judgment, without perspective, no context for understanding or distinguishing what is real and what is imagined, what is manipulated and what is by chance beautiful, what is shadow and what is flesh?
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I will never be able to say what is in my heart because words fail us, because it is in our nature to protect, because there are times when what is public and what is private must be discerned.
Terry Tempest Williams