Love removes the world for you, and just as surely when it's going well as when it's going badly. Alice Munro More Quotes by Alice Munro More Quotes From Alice Munro That's something I think is growing on me as I get older: happy endings. Alice Munro growing writing thinking I never have a problem with finding material. I wait for it to turn up, and it always turns up. It’s dealing with the material I’m inundated with that poses the problem. Alice Munro turns problem waiting I felt in him what women feel in men, something so tender, swollen, tyrannical, absurd; I would never take the consequences of interfering with it. Alice Munro absurd feels men The unhappiest moment I could never tell you. All our fights blend into each other and are in fact re-enactments of the same fight, in which we punish each other--I with words, Hugh with silence--for being each other. We never needed any more than that. Alice Munro fighting silence facts They were all in their early thirties. An age at which it is sometimes hard to admit that what you are living is your life. Alice Munro hard age sometimes It's certainly true that when I was young, writing seemed to me so important that I would have sacrificed almost anything to it ... Because I thought of the world in which I wrote -- the world I created -- as somehow much more enormously alive than the world I was actually living in. Alice Munro important writing world Who can ever say the perfect thing to the poet about his poetry? Alice Munro perfect-things poet perfect There would never be any room in her for anything else. No room for anything but the realization of what she had done. Alice Munro done realization rooms I used to feel for years and years and years that I was very remiss not to have written a novel and I would question people who wrote novels and try to find out how they did it and how they had got past page 30. Then, with the approach of old age, I began to just think: “Well, lucky I can do anything at all. Alice Munro past years thinking Why is it a surprise to find that people other than ourselves are able to tell lies? Alice Munro able lying people My head was a magpie's nest lined with such bright scraps of information. Alice Munro magpies nests information For years and years I thought that stories were just practice, till I got time to write a novel. Alice Munro practice writing years You want in all cases for the story to get through the writing. Alice Munro crafts stories writing Every year, when you're a child, you become a different person. Alice Munro different children years If I decided to send this to you, where would I send it? When I think of writing the whole address on the envelope I am paralyzed. It's too painful to think of you in the same place with your life going on in the same way, minus me. And to think of you not there, you somewhere else but I don't know where that is, is worse. Alice Munro somewhere-else writing thinking One stroke of lightning does not have to lead anywhere, but to the next stroke of lightning. Alice Munro lightning next doe I saw how the forms of love might be maintained with a condemned person but with the love in fact measured and disciplined, because you have to survive. It could be done so discreetly that the object of such care would not suspect, any more than she would suspect the sentence of death itself. Alice Munro saws care might I read a book called The Art of Loving. A lot of things seemed clear while I was reading it but afterwards I went back to being more or less the same. Alice Munro reading book art Peoples lives, in Jubilee as elsewhere, were dull, simple, amazing, unfathomable-deep caves paved with kitchen linoleum. . . . What I wanted [to write down] was every last thing, every layer of speech and thought, stroke of light on bark or walls, every smell, pothole, pain, crack, delusion, held still and held together-radiant, everlasting. Alice Munro wall pain writing As soon as a man and woman of almost any age are alone together within four walls it is assumed that anything may happen. Spontaneous combustion, instant fornication, triumph of the senses. What possibilities men and women must see in each other to infer such dangers. Or, believing in the dangers, how often they must think about the possibilities. Alice Munro wall men believe
