“Again the ranch is on the market and they’ve shipped out the last of the horses, paid everybody off the day before, the owner saying, ‘Give them to the real estate shark, I’m out a here,” dropping the keys in… — Annie Proulx Copy Share Image
“Late in the afternoon, thunder growling, that same old green pickup rolled in and he saw Jack get out of the truck, beat up Resistol tilted back. A hot jolt scalded Ennis and he was out on the landing pulling… — Annie Proulx Copy Share Image
Writing comes from reading, and reading is the finest teacher of how to write. — Annie Proulx Copy Share
“A kind of joyous hysteria moved into the room, everything flying before the wind, vehicles outside getting dented to hell, the crowd sweaty and… — Annie Proulx Copy Share
“.. that old, cold time on the mountain when they owned the world and nothing seemed wrong ..” — Annie Proulx Copy Share
“The mountain pine beetle is a tiny creature that chews through a lodgepole’s bark, gouges out a hollow in the wood and lays its… — Annie Proulx Copy Share
“It was as if his eye were an ear and a crackle went through it each time he shot a look at the accordion.… — Annie Proulx Copy Share
“On the stairs an image came to him. Was love then like a bag of assorted sweets passed around from which one might choose… — Annie Proulx Copy Share
“The only cities were of ice, bergs with cores of beryl, blue gems within white gems, that some said gave off an odor of… — Annie Proulx Copy Share
“They say that doing ten sums a day prevents you from becoming senile. But by that argument bankers should be geniuses. That's not right.… — Annie Proulx Copy Share
“You stand there, braced. Cloud shadows race over the buff rock stacks as a projected film, casting a queasy, mottled ground rash. The air… — Annie Proulx Copy Share
“Thirty-six years old and this was the first time anybody ever said he'd done it right. Fog against the window like milk.” — Annie Proulx Copy Share
“There was a month of fiery happiness. Then six kinked years of suffering.” — Annie Proulx Copy Share
It is my feeling that a story is not finished until it is read, and that the reader finishes it through his or her… — Annie Proulx Copy Share
