Alice Hoffman Quotes - Page 4

Among men and women, those in love do not always announce themselves with declarations and vows. But they are the ones who weep when you're gone. Who miss you every single night, especially when the sky is so deep and beautiful, and the ground so very cold.

The only people out at this hour were ones who couldn't sleep,those haunted by one thing or another:love thwarted, love lost, love thrown away. They were the sort of people who didn't want to be noticed, who wanted to slip through shadows, be alone with their despair.

Every fairy tale had a bloody lining. Every one had teeth and claws.

My mother, Abra, had taught me that all people are made from the same dust. When our days here are gone, all men and women enter the same garden.

No one knows how to write a novel until it's been written

He has the ability to catch someone by the way that he looks at her, and make her wish he would go on looking.

I wrote to find beauty and purpose, to know that love is possible and lasting and real, to see day lilies and swimming pools, loyalty and devotion, even though my eyes were closed, and all that surrounded me was a darkened room. I wrote because that was who I was at the core, and if I was too damaged to walk around the block, I was lucky all the same. Once I got to my desk, once I started writing, I still believed anything was possible.

The best way to die is when your living

They say that dogs may dream, and when Topsy was old, his feet would move in his sleep. With his eyes closed he would often make a noise that sounded quite human, as if greeting someone in his dreams. At first it seemed that he believed Sara would return, but as the years went by I understood that his loyalty asked for no reward, and that love comes in unexpected forms. His wish was small, as hers had been -- merely to be beside her. As for me, I already knew I would never get what I wanted.

It was the sort of beauty you feel so deeply it becomes contagious and somehow makes you feel beautiful too.

Sometimes movies really are the best medicine.

I just finished Colson Whitehead's "The Underground Railroad," which I think is a work of genius.

People want to ignore what they can't understand. They're looking for logic at any cost.

Anyway, the sort of love that will not wait is probably best to pass by

The moon is always jealous of the heat of the day, just as the sun always longs for something dark and deep.

You can be betrayed in your sleep. The whole world can tilt while you're dreaming of butterflies.

Mothers always find ways to fit in the work - but then when you're working, you feel that you should be spending time with your children and then when you're with your children, you're thinking about working.

I thought you were supposed to be the champion of your people,' I said. I live because I need to do that. For anyone who is left.' Don't you see? No one will be left. Protect them now or there will be no one to protect!' This is a battle that goes on and on. It never ends. You're too young to understand. No! You're too much of a coward to fight.' I was sick of lies and secrets and of battles so old we had to erase who we were to fight back. And still we lost. Still we were tied to posts.

My mother's blood that would last forever after. The blood of my brother, my grandfather, my father.

Here is the riddle of love: Everything it gives to you, it takes away.

But what we are given is taken as well, so that we know God's glory comes to us from His will alone.

I knew what it was to yearn for a life so distant it seemed that it had never been anything more than a dream.

When I read Jerome D. Salinger's "The Catcher in the Rye" that was the first time I felt my mind blow open. I thought that book was speaking to me. I was 12 or 13 when I read that. I read everything on my mother's bookshelves.

...he had a way of taking your hand which made it clear he'd have to be the one to let go." From Alice Hoffman's "Local Girls", pg.102.

The grass he walked through was new and a sweet smell clung to his clothes. There was blue dye on his hands from the wild irises... that the color of the sky was a shade that could never be replicated in any photograph, just as Heaven could never be seen from the confines of Earth.