It's a little silly to finally learn how to write at this age. But I long ago realized I was secretly sincere. Annie Dillard More Quotes by Annie Dillard More Quotes From Annie Dillard Cruelty is a mystery, and the waste of pain. But if we describe a word to compass these things, a world that is a long, brute game, then we bump against another mystery: the inrush of power and delight, the canary that sings on the skull. Annie Dillard skulls pain games As soon as beauty is sought not from religion and love, but for pleasure, it degrades the seeker. Annie Dillard beauty love religion It is the fixed that horrifies us, the fixed that assails us with the tremendous force of mindlessness. The fixed is a Mason jar,and we can't beat it open. ...The fixed is a world without fire--dead flint, dead tinder, and nowhere a spark. It is motion without direction, force without power, the aimless procession of caterpillars round the rim of a vase, and I hate it because at any moment I myself might step to that charmed and glistening thread. Annie Dillard vases hate fire The mind itself is an art object. It is a Mondrian canvas onto whose homemade grids it fits its own preselected products. Our knowledge is contextual and only contextual. Ordering and invention coincide: we call their collaboration knowledge. Annie Dillard collaboration mind art When I was six or seven years old, growing up in Pittsburgh, I used to take a precious penny of my own and hide it for someone else to find. I was greatly excited at the thought of the first lucky passerby who would receive a gift in this way, regardless of merit, a free gift from the universe. . . . I've been thinking about seeing. There are lots of things to see, unwrapped gifts and free surprises. The world is fairly studded and strewn with pennies cast broadside from a generous hand. Annie Dillard growing-up hands thinking Put yourself out of your misery. Annie Dillard misery When I first read the words 'introvert' and 'extrovert' when I was 10, I thought I was both. Annie Dillard introvert extroverts firsts The mind of the writer does indeed do something before it dies, and so does its owner, but I would be hard put to call it living. Annie Dillard would-be mind doe Unless all ages and races of men have been deluded by the same mass hypnotist (who?), there seems to be such a thing as beauty, a grace wholly gratuitous. Annie Dillard race beauty men The dear, stupid body is as easily satisfied as a spaniel. Annie Dillard dear body stupid Evolution loves death more than it loves you or me. This is easy to write, easy to read, and hard to believe. Annie Dillard love-you writing believe The courage of children and beasts is a function of innocence. Annie Dillard beast innocence children At night I read and write, and things I have never understood become clear; I reap the harvest of the rest of the year's planting Annie Dillard writing night years The sensation of writing a book is the sensation of spinning, blinded by love and daring. Annie Dillard spinning writing book The way to learn about a writer is to read the text. Or texts. Annie Dillard way The interior life is often stupid. Annie Dillard interiors stupid life-is I couldn't unpeach the peaches. Annie Dillard peaches I saw in a blue haze all the world poured flat and pale between the mountains Annie Dillard mountain blue world The sensation of writing a book is the sensation of spinning, blinded by love and daring. It is the sensation of a stunt pilot's turning barrel rolls, or an inchworm's blind rearing from a stem in search of a route. At its worst, it feels like alligator wrestling, at the level of the sentence. Annie Dillard writing wrestling book Unfortunately, nature is very much a now-you-see-it, now-you-don't affair. A fish flashes, then dissolves in the water before my eyes like so much salt. Deer apparently ascend bodily into heaven; the brightest oriole fades into leaves. Annie Dillard nature eye water
