Theirs is the mystery of continuous creation and all that providence implies: the uncertainty of vision, the horror of the fixed, the dissolution of the present, the intricacy of beauty, the pressure of fecundity, the elusiveness of the free, and the flawed nature of perfection.
Annie DillardMake connections; let rip; and dance where you can.
Annie DillardWe wake, if we ever wake at all, to mystery, rumors of death, beauty, violence...
Annie DillardThere is neither a proportional relationship, nor an inverse one, between a writer’s estimation of a work in progress
Annie DillardWe still
Annie DillardTags: waking
The written word is weak. Many people prefer life to it. Life gets your blood going,
Annie DillardOur life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery, like the idle curved tunnels of leaf miners on the face of a leaf. We must somehow take a wider view, look at the whole landscape, really see it, and describe what's going on here. Then we can at least wail the right question into the swaddling band of darkness, or, if it comes to that, choir the proper praise.
Annie DillardAt its best, the sensation of writing is that of any unmerited grace. It is handed to you, but only if you look for it. You search, you break your heart, your back, your brain, and then--and only then--it is handed to you.
Annie DillardThe world is wider in all directions, more dangerous and bitter, more extravagant and bright. We are making hay when we should be making whoopee; we are raising tomatoes when we should be raising Cain and Lazarus.
Annie DillardThese are our few live seasons. Let us live them as purely as we can, in the present.
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