My heart is broken,” she goes. “It’s turned to a piece of stone. I’m no good. That’s what’s as bad as anything, that I’m no good anymore. Raymond Carver More Quotes by Raymond Carver More Quotes From Raymond Carver there isn't enough of anything as long as we live. But at intervals a sweetness appears and, given a chance prevails. Raymond Carver chanceenoughlong That's all we have, finally, the words, and they had better be the right ones. Raymond Carver writing Life and death matters, yes. And the question of how to behave in this world, how to go in the face of everything. Time is short and the water is rising. Raymond Carver risinglife-and-deathwater If we're lucky, writer and reader alike, we'll finish the last line or two of a short story and then just sit for a minute, quietly. Ideally, we'll ponder what we've just written or read; maybe our hearts or intellects will have been moved off the peg just a little from where they were before. Our body temperature will have gone up, or down, by a degree. Then, breathing evenly and steadily once more, we'll collect ourselves, writers and readers alike, get up, "created of warm blood and nerves" as a Chekhov character puts it, and go on to the next thing: Life. Always life. Raymond Carver heartwritingcharacter And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth. Raymond Carver i-love-youearthwant It's possible, in a poem or short story, to write about commonplace things and objects using commonplace but precise language, and to endow those things—a chair, a window curtain, a fork, a stone, a woman's earring—with immense, even startling power. Raymond Carver insightfulstorieswriting I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone's heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark. Raymond Carver heartlovemoving Write about what you know, and what do you know better than your own secrets? Raymond Carver secretknowswriting It ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we're talking about when we talk about love. Raymond Carver ashamedfeelstalking Dreams, you know, are what you wake up from. Raymond Carver wake-upknowsdream It's strange. You never start out life with the intention of becoming a bankrupt or an alcoholic or a cheat and a thief. Or a liar. Raymond Carver thievesbecomingliars The places where water comes together with other water. Those places stand out in my mind like holy places. Raymond Carver mindtogetherwater Art doesn't have to do anything. It just has to be there for the fierce pleasure we take in doing it. Raymond Carver fiercepleasureart You've got to work with your mistakes until they look intended. Understand? Raymond Carver mistakelooks There are significant moments in everyone's day that can make literature. That's what you ought to write about. Raymond Carver craftsliteraturewriting He wondered if she wondered if he were watching her. Raymond Carver ifs Happiness. It comes on unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really, any early morning talk about it. Raymond Carver early-morningpoetrymorning I've crossed some kind of invisible line. I feel as if I've come to a place I never thought I'd have to come to. And I don't know how I got here. It's a strange place. It's a place where a little harmless dreaming and then some sleepy, early-morning talk has led me into considerations of death and annihilation. Raymond Carver dreaminsomniamorning But I can hardly sit still. I keep fidgeting, crossing one leg and then the other. I feel like I could throw off sparks, or break a window--maybe rearrange all the furniture. Raymond Carver legsanxietyworry There was a time when I thought I loved my first wife more than life itself. But now I hate her guts. I do. How do you explain that? What happened to that love? What happened to it, is what I'd like to know. I wish someone could tell me. Raymond Carver wifehatewish
