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I Think We Are Bound To, And By, Nature. We May Want To Deny This Connection And Try To Believe We Control The External World, But Every Time There's A Snowstorm Or Drought, We Know Our Fate Is Tied To The World Around Us

-Alice Hoffman

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I Think We Are

Alice Hoffman

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I Think We Are Bound To, And By, Nature. We May Want To Deny This Connection And Try To Believe We Control The External World, But Every Time There's A Snowstorm Or Drought, We Know Our Fate Is Tied To The World Around Us

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Everything We Knew Condemned Us, And Our Questioning Condemned Us Most Of All. Knowledge Was The Way Of Our People, And Knowledge Was Dangerous. It Was The First Thing That Freed You And The Thing That Put You In Peril. It Was The Key To The Ten Gates. I Saw Them Clearly Now, Each And Every One, The Gates That Were There For Me. Ashes, Bones, Grass, Heart, Stone, Love, Sorrow, Blood, Earth, Sky.

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But Most Important Of All, She Explained That It Was All Right To Say 'no. I Disagree.' That Was A Gift. I Understood It Was Power. The Power To Think My Own Thoughts. The Power To Believe In Myself.

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Sometimes Words Drew Blood, They Cut Your Tongue, They Made You Know Things You Couldn't Unknow.

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He Started To Look At Me In A Manner I Recognized: It Was The Way I Looked At A New Book, One I Had Never Read Before, One That Surprised Me With All It Had To Say.

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I Must Keep My Head And Not Give In To Desire, For Desire Is What Causes Women To Drown.

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Even As A Small Child, I Understood That Woman Had Secrets, And That Some Of These Were Only To Be Told To Daughters. In This Way We Were Bound Together For Eternity.

My Grandmother Told Me Once That When You Lose Somebody You Think You've Lost The Whole World As Well, But That's Not The Way Things Turn Out In The End. Eventually, You Pick Yourself Up And Look Out The Window, And Once You Do You See Everything That Was There Before The World Ended Is Out There Still. There Are The Same Apple Trees And The Same Songbirds, And Over Our Heads, The Very Same Sky That Shines Like Heaven, So Far Above Us We Can Never Hope To Reach Such Heights.

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I Think We Are Bound To, And By, Nature. We May Want To Deny This Connection And Try To Believe We Control The External World, But Every Time There's A Snowstorm Or Drought, We Know Our Fate Is Tied To The World Around Us

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Fairytales Were Maps Formed Of Blood And Hair And Bones; They Were The Knots Of The Sub-conscious Unwound. Every Word In Every Tale Was Real And As True As Apples And Stones. They All Led To The Story Inside The Story.

I Think Secrets Often Come Out. I Spoke To A Friend Who Is A Therapist And I Asked Her If There Were People Who Came To Her And Admitted To Doing Horrible Things And She Said, 'more Than You Know.'.

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He Believed In Dreams, In Endings That People Told You Could Never Happen, In Disappointments Reversed And Luck That Lasted.

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She Was Disappearing A Little More Each Day, So Thin, So Frail, A Wisp Of Smoke. One Day She Would Surely Vanish Altogether, And There Was No Way To Stop Her.

What Did You See?' He Asked Then. Nothing,' I Told Him. 'because Nothing Is What You Wanted Me To See, Though The Man On The Table Might Disagree.

My Mother's Blood That Would Last Forever After. The Blood Of My Brother, My Grandfather, My Father.

What I Like About Fairy Tales Is The Language And The Matter-of-fact Way Of Introducing Magic, Where It's Accepted That A Fox Could Talk Or A Gate Could Just Appear In A Wall. I Think Fairy Tales Are So Psychological.

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My Grief Was Cold. It Was Nothing To Share. It Was Nothing To Speak About, Nothing To Feel.

It Was The Sort Of Beauty You Feel So Deeply It Becomes Contagious And Somehow Makes You Feel Beautiful Too.

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Once You Know Some Things, You Can't Unknow Them. It's A Burden That Can Never Be Given Away.

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.

Good Fortune Can Take Forever To Get To You, But As It Turns Out, Sorrow Is As Quick As A Shot.

Anyway, The Sort Of Love That Will Not Wait Is Probably Best To Pass By

They Weren't True Stories; They Were Better Than That.

I Wrote To Find Beauty And Purpose, To Know That Love Is Possible And Lasting And Real.... Once I Got To My Desk, Once I Started Writing, I Still Believed Anything Was Possible.

I Just Finished Colson Whitehead's "the Underground Railroad," Which I Think Is A Work Of Genius.

Feel Lucky For What You Have When You Have It. Isn't That The Point? Happily Ever After Doesn't Mean Happy Forever.

She Didn't Like Being Twelve. It Felt Like Someplace Between Who She'd Been And Who She Was About To Be. It Felt Like No Place At All.

If I Hadn't Learned My Lesson, I Would Have Wished We Could Stay There Forever. But I Knew Better Now. We'd Seen What We'd Come To See. The Way To Trick Death. Breathe In. Breathe Out. Watch As It All Rises Upwards, Black And Blue Into The Even Bluer Sky.

It Wasn't Right To Have Someone Charge Into You Your World Without Even Asking, Acting As If You Were Nothing More Than An Egg To Be Flipped And Flopped, Sunny-side Up Or Scrambled, Depending On The Whims On Whoever Ran Your Life..._

They Were Written On Cheap Blue Notebooks Bought By Poor Women. I'm Interested In Folk Tales In The Way That Medicine And Magic In Women's Stories Are All Kind Of Combined.

That's The Way Love Sounds, My Mother Told Me. You Think It Should Feel Like Honey, But Instead It Cuts Like A Knife.

I Hate It When People Tell Me The End Of The Story Because My Mother Always Read The Last Page Of A Novel First To See Whether She Wanted To Read It. It Was A Strange Reading Habit.

I Love Science Fiction But Especially His Because It's So Humane.

Science Fiction

In A World Of Sorrow, Love Was An Act Of Will. All You Needed Were The Right Ingredients.

Here Is The Riddle Of Love: Everything It Gives To You, It Takes Away.

Some Things, When They Change, Never Do Return To The Way They Once Were. Butterflies For Instance, And Women Who've Been In Love With The Wrong Man Too Often.

When I Walk, I Walk With You. Where I Go, You're With Me Always.

I'm Much Faster Now. When You Only Have A Certain Amount Of Time To Write, After A While You Learn To Use Your Time Well Or You Stop Writing

He Wanted Pain, I Saw That In Him, And What A Man Wants He Will Often Manage To Find.

Crying Wasn't Like Riding A Bike. Give It Up, And You Quickly Forget How It's Done.

Unrequited Love Is So Boring. Weeping Under A Blue-black Sky Is For Suckers Or Maniacs.

Unrequited Love

That Is How You Know You've Left Childhood Behind-when You Wish For Time To Go Backward.

What Else Is There To Write About Than Love And Loss?

In Losing A Friend, She Is Reminded Of All She Has Lost And All She Stands To Lose Again. There Is Nothing To Be Done To Make It Any Easier. We All Grieve Alone.

Most People Know That Ray Bradbury Is One Of My Favorite Authors.

Some Things You Cannot Wish Away Or Think Away. They Become Part Of You When You Remember Them.

Just Because Something Is Unspoken Doesn't Mean That It Disappears.

He Was In Love, And People In That Condition Did Stupid, Unfathomable Things. They Were All Flawed, Every Single One.

This Was What It Meant To Be Human, To Know That Time Moved And All Things Changed.

Real Love, After All, Was Worth The Price You Paid, However Briefly It Might Last.

[fairy Tales] Are Like A Journey To The Woods And The Many Ways You Can Get Lost. Some People Say It's Not A Good Idea To Read Fairy Tales To Anyone Under The Age Of Eight Because They Are Brutal And Raw. When I Was A Kid I Often Felt That Kids's Books Were Speaking Down To Me, But I Never Felt That Way About Fairy Tales. They Are Bloody And Scary, But So Is Life.

You Don't Fight For Peace Sister,' Nahara Told Me, 'you Embrace It.

If We Had Paid Attention, We Would Have Understood There Are Some Things In This World You Cannot Outrun.

...but Now The Worst Crime Was Pretending To Be Something You Were Not.

If Every Life Is A River, Then It's Little Wonder That We Do Not Even Notice The Changes That Occur Until We Are Far Out In The Darkest Sea. One Day You Look Around And Nothing Is Familiar, Not Even Your Own Face. My Name Once Meant Daughter, Grandaughter, Friend, Sister, Beloved. Now Those Words Mean Only What Their Letters Spell Out; Star In The Night Sky. Truth In The Darkness. I Have Crossed Over To A Place Where I Never Thought I'd Be. I Am Someone I Would Have Never Imagined. A Secret. A Dream. I Am This, Body And Soul. Burn Me. Drown Me. Tell Me Lies. I Will Still Be Who I Am.

That Was The Way Illness Appeared In A House, In The Corners, In Between Floorboards, On The Hooks In The Closet, Along With The Sweaters And Coats.

When The Cold Comes To New England It Arrives In Sheets Of Sleet And Ice. In December, The Wind Wraps Itself Around Bare Trees And Twists In Between Husbands And Wives Asleep In Their Beds. It Shakes The Shingles From The Roofs And Sifts Through Cracks In The Plaster. The Only Green Things Left Are The Holly Bushes And The Old Boxwood Hedges In The Village, And These Are Often Painted White With Snow. Chipmunks And Weasels Come To Nest In Basements And Barns; Owls Find Their Way Into Attics. At Night,the Dark Is Blue And Bluer Still, As Sapphire Of Night.

I Wonder How A Lioness Will Manage In A Dovecote. Can You Put Away Your Teeth And Claws?

Love Is Worth The Sum Of Itself, And Nothing More.

Others Said May Was Best, That Sweet Green Time When Lilacs Bloomed And Gardens Along Main Street Were Filled With Sugary Pink Peonies And Dutch Tulips.

Do People Choose The Art That Inspires Them — Do They Think It Over, Decide They Might Prefer The Fabulous To The Real? For Me, It Was Those Early Readings Of Fairy Tales That Made Me Who I Was As A Reader And, Later On, As A Storyteller.

I Really Feel Like The Gift Is Also The Curse. It's Always Half-and-half. Whatever Brings You The Most Joy Will Also Probably Bring You The Most Pain. Always A Price To Pay

When All Is Said And Done, The Weather And Love Are The Two Elements About Which One Can Never Be Sure.

Do You Ever Just Put Your Arms Out And Just Spin And Spin And Spin? Well, That's What Love Is Like; Everything Inside Of You Tells You To Stop Before You Fall, But For Some Reason You Just Keep Going.

Be Careful What You Wish For. I Know That For A Fact. Wishes Are Brutal, Unforgiving Things. They Burn Your Tongue The Moment They're Spoken And You Can Never Take Them Back.

What You Dream, You Can Grow. Someone Told Me That, But I Didn't Believe It. I Said I Had Nothing And That People With Nothing Are Unable To Dream. But I Was Wrong.

A Boy Who Is Trouble Is Something Entirely Different As A Man.

Some Fates Are Guaranteed, No Matter Who Tries To Intervene.

Are People Drawn To Each Other Because Of The Stories They Carry Inside?

But What We Are Given Is Taken As Well, So That We Know God's Glory Comes To Us From His Will Alone.

No One Knows You Like A Person With Whom You've Shared A Childhood. No One Will Ever Understand You In Quite The Same Way.

This Day Is Going To Be Awful. It's The Sort Of Day You Wouldn't Mind Losing Completely, Even If It Meant Your Life Would Be Twenty-four Hours Shorter.

Being An Outsider Is The One Thing We All Have In Common.

Our House Was Littered With Books- In The Kitchen, Under The Beds, Stuck Between The Couch Pillows--far Too Many For Her The Ever Finish. I Suppose I Thought If My Grandmother Kept Up Her Interests, She Wouldn't Die; She'd Have To Stay Around To Finish The Books She Was So Fond Of. "i've Got To Get To The Bottom Of This One," She'd Say, As If A Book Were No Different From A Pond Or A Lake. I Thought She'd Go On Reading Forever But It Didn't Work Out That Way.

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'd Thought He Was Lost, But Now He Recognized That Eternity Was Around Him, Like Salt From A Shaker Or Stars In The Sky.

It Was A Great Escape For Me And It Was A Way To Take A Break From What Was Going On In My Own World, To Go Into Another World.

What Men Yearn For They Often Destroy.

People Want To Ignore What They Can't Understand. They're Looking For Logic At Any Cost.

My Theory Is That Everyone At One Time Or Another Has Been At The Fringe Of Society In Some Way: An Outcast In High School, A Stranger In A Foreign Country, The Best At Something, The Worst At Something, The One Who's Different. Being An Outsider Is The One Thing We All Have In Common.

It Doesn't Matter What People Tell You. It Doesn't Matter What They Might Say. Sometimes You Have To Leave Home. Sometimes, Running Away Means You're Headed In The Exact Right Direction.

I Thought Of The Bowl Of Water My Mother Taught Me To Look Into. It Was True, Everything A Person Ever Needed To Know Was Right There In A Single Bowl Small Enough To Fit In The Palm Of One Hand.

Perhaps It Is Possible To Discover More In Silence Than In Speech. Or Perhaps It Is Only That Those Who Are Silent Among Us Learn To Listen.

My Sorrow Is I Used To Read All The Time And Now, As A Writer, I Don't Have The Time To Read.

Abra Demadrigal Didn't Look Young Enough To Be My Sister Anymore. Her Sorrow Weighed Her Down And Aged Her. She Was Still Beautiful, But She Looked Very Far Away. No Wonder Our People Had Raven Eyes, So Distant, So Sad. No Matter How Wise She Was, My Mother Looked Like A Woman Who Hadn't Truely Believed How Much Evil There Was In Our World. Not Until This Moment.

Still, I Couldn't Help But Wonder If It Was A Mistake For People Like Us To Be Tied To A Place. If We Weren't Meant To Be Ready And Willing To Wander. If Everything We Needed Was Contained In Who We Were. And What We Remember.

We Had To Survive To Remember. Otherwise Everything We Were Would Disappear. Those People We Loved Would Fade As Though We'd Never Loved Them, As If They'd Never Walked And Talked And Burned, Forgetting Them Was The Real Evil. That Was The Hole Of Darkness.

I Loved Him Even Now, As He Took A Knife To My Throat, As I Drowned In Blood, As I Whispered "cousin, You Were Wrong. We Were Born To Live.

The More You Feel, The Stronger You Are.

He Has The Ability To Catch Someone By The Way That He Looks At Her, And Make Her Wish He Would Go On Looking.

Every Problem Has A Solution, Although It May Not Be The Outcome That Was Originally Hoped For Or Expected.

Young People Believe That Regret Is Something You Will Never Feel If You Simply Do As You Please, But Sometimes It Is A Matter Of Degree.

I Feel As If When You Love A Book It Becomes A Part Of You Whether You Have It On Your Shelves Or Not.

Every Time I Finish A Book, I Forget Everything I Learned Writing It - The Information Just Disappears Out Of My Head

Forget Everything

Never Look At Other People's Bad Fortune,' My Mother Said. 'if You Do, It Will Come Back To Find You Instead Of Its Rightful Owner.

Are People Drawn To Each Other Because Of The Stories They Carry Inside? At The Library I Couldn’t Help But Notice Which Patrons Checked Out The Same Books. They Appeared To Have Nothing In Common, But Who Could Tell What A Person Was Truly Made Of? The Unknown, The Riddle, The Deepest Truth. I Noticed Them All: The Ones Who’d Lost Their Way, The Ones Who’d Lived Their Lives In Ashes, The Ones Who Had To Prove Themselves, The Ones Who, Like Me, Had Lost The Ability To Feel.

I Never Plot Out My Novels In Terms Of The Tone Of The Book. Hopefully, Once A Story Is Begun It Reveals Itself

You Build Your World Around Someone, And Then What Happens When He Disappears? Where Do You Go-into Pieces, Into Atoms, Into The Arms Of Another Man? You Go Shopping, You Cook Dinner, You Work Odd Hours, You Make Love To Someone Else On June Nights. But You're Not Really There.

Love Ambushed You, It Lay In Wait, Dormant For Days Or Years. It Was The Red Thread, The Peach Stone, The Kiss, The Forgiveness. It Came After You, It Escaped You, It Was Invisible, It Was Everything.

When You Start Writing The Magic Comes When The Characters Seem To Take On A Life Of Their Own And Write The Words For Themselves.

The Nature Of Love Had Totally Escaped Her Until Now. She Had Thought That If You Lost It, You Could Never Get It Back, Like A Stone Thrown Down A Well. But It Was Like The Water At The Bottom Of The Well, There When You Can't Even See It, Shifting In The Dark.

You Cannot Dispute The Ridiculous. You Cannot Argue Reasonably With Evil.

We Stood And Watched As God Abandoned Us, And Then We Did The Best We Could.

I Thought That Love Was A River, Endless And Deep. I Thought It Merely Happened, Washing Over You Like Water. It Was Nothing To Search For, Nothing To Force. I Didn't Understand That Even When We Can't Control Our Fate, We Alone Have The Last Say In Matters Of The Heart. We Can Give It Freely, Even In The Worst Of Times, Even When It Isn't Returned.

Emily Brontë's "wuthering Heights" Was Extremely Important To Me.

We Are Only An Instant, That's True. But We Are Eternal.

Cleaning Up After Themselves Was A Low Priority For Margo And My Mother. They Had Both Recovered From Cancer Scares, Failed Marriages, And Lost Hope; In Their Opinion, Dirt Could Wait.

One Of My Favorites Is "time And Again" By Jack Finney. It Takes Place In Manhattan And Goes Back And Forth Between 1882 And The 1950s. It's Really A Cult Book.

At Midnight The Wind In The Tress Can Sound Like The Ocean. The Moonlight Can Make A Road Appear As Endless As The Sea.

Some People Say, 'save Yourself And You Save Your Ways.' I Say, 'be Yourself And You Save Your Soul.

In "faithful," Ray Bradbury Is Discussed A Lot. The Characters Read "the Illustrated Man."

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.

Every Time Someone Forgets, Someone Else Disappears,' My Brother Wrote.

Some Things, However, Are True No Matter How Hard You Might Try To Block Them Out, And A Lie Is Always A Lie, No Matter How Prettily Told. Some Doors, Once They're Opened, Can Never Be Closed Again, Just As Some Trust, Once It's Been Lost, Can Never Be Won Back.

The Voice That Arises Out Of The Silence Is Something No One Can Imagine Until It Is Heard. It Roars When It Speaks, It Lies To You And Convinces You, It Steals From You And Leaves You Without A Single Word Of Comfort.

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Katherine Jenkins

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