Each day the storm clouds were opening like great purple flowers and pouring out their dark thunder. Each nightfall, the storm was laid down on their houses like a burden the day had carried.
Eudora WeltyMy continuing passion is to part a curtain, that invisible veil of indifference that falls between us and that blinds us to each other's presence, each other's wonder, each other's human plight.
Eudora WeltyTo imagine yourself inside another person...is what a story writer does in every piece of work; it is his first step, and his last too, I suppose.
Eudora WeltyA whole tree of lightning stood in the sky. She kept looking out the window, suffused with the warmth from the fire and with the pity and beauty and power of her death. The thunder rolled.
Eudora WeltyTags: sadness weltschmerz
Just now they kissed, with India coming up close on her toes to see if she could tell yet what there was about a kiss.
Eudora WeltyTags: writing-from-the-heart
Up home we loved a good storm coming, we’d fly outdoors and run up and down to meet it,” her mother used to say. “We children would run as fast as we could go along the top of that mountain when the wind was blowing, holding our arms right open. The wilder it blew the better we liked it.
Eudora WeltyThe events in our lives happen in a sequence in time, but in their significance to ourselves they find their own order.
Eudora WeltyIf you haven't surprised yourself, you haven't written.
Eudora WeltyTags: writing-surprise
Then the light changed the water, until all about them the woods in the rising wind seemed to grow taller and blow inward together and suddenly turn dark. The rain struck heavily. A huge tail seemed to lash through the air and the river broke in a wound of silver.
Eudora WeltyTags: mississippi mississippi-authors mississippi-writers the-wide-net
Making reality real is art’s responsibility.
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