Annie Dillard quote: So it is that a writer writes many books. In each book, he intended several urgent and vivid points, many ...

So it is that a writer writes many books. In each book, he intended several urgent and vivid points, many of which he sacrificed as the book's form hardened.

~ Annie Dillard ~

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So it is that a writer writes many books. In each book, he intended several urgent and vivid points,...

Picture of Annie Dillard — Annie DillardThe Writing Life

More Annie Dillard quotes

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Who will teach me to write? a reader wanted to know.The page, the page, that eternal blankness, the blankness of eternity which you cover slowly, affi...

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I like to be aware of a book as a piece of writing, and aware of its structure as a product of mind, and yet I want to be able to see the represented ...

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Books swept me away, this way and that, one after the other; I made endless vows according to their lights for I believed them.

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All those things for which we have no words are lost. The mind—the culture—has two little tools, grammar and lexicon: a decorated sand bucket and a ma...

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On plenty of days the writer can write three or four pages, and on plenty of other days he concludes he must throw them away.

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The secret is not to write about what you love best, but about what you, alone, love at all.

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For writing a first draft requires from the writer a peculiar internal state which ordinary life does not induce. ... how to set yourself spinning?

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You can read in the space of a coffin, and you can write in the space of a toolshed meant for mowers and spades.

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Private life, book life, took place where words met imagination without passing through the world.

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Those of us who read carried around with us like martyrs a secret knowledge, a secret joy and a secret hope: There is a life worth living where histor...

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It is winter proper; the cold weather, such as it is, has come to stay. I bloom indoors in the winter like a forced forsythia; I come in to come out. ...

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It has always been a happy thought to me that the creek runs on all night, new every minute, whether I wish it or know it or care, as a closed book on...

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At night on land migrating monarchs slumber on certain trees, hung in festoons with wings folded together, thick on the trees and shaggy as bearskin. ...

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We teach our children one thing only, as we were taught: to wake up. We teach our children to look alive there, to join by words and activities the li...