“Then there was silence, the air like ice. Brittle-looking birch trees with black marks on their white bark, and some kind of small untidy evergreens rolled up like sleepy bears. The frozen lake not level but mounded along the shore,… — Alice Munro Copy Share Image
William Maxwell's my favorite North American writer, I think. And an Irish writer who used to write for 'The New Yorker' called Maeve Brennan,… — Alice Munro Copy Share Image
“Not very long ago I was driving with my husband on the back roads of Grey County, which is to the north and east of Huron County. We passed a country store standing empty at a crossroads. It had old-fashioned store windows, with long narrow panes. Out in front there was a stand for gas pumps which weren't there anymore.… — Alice Munro Copy Share
“Her silent singing wrapped around the story she was telling herself, which she extended further every night on the deck. (Averill often told herself… — Alice Munro Copy Share Image
“Something happened here. In your life there are a few places, or maybe only the one place, were something happened, and then there are… — Alice Munro Copy Share Image
My head was a magpie's nest lined with such bright scraps of information. — Alice Munro Copy Share Image
The thing is to be happy, no matter what. Just try that. You can. It gets to be easier and easier. It's nothing to… — Alice Munro Copy Share Image
What she wants to do if she can get the time to do it, is not so much to live in the past as… — Alice Munro Copy Share Image
“Children Katy's age had no problem with monotony. In fact they embraced it, diving into it and wrapping the familiar words round their tongues… — Alice Munro Copy Share Image
“This is what happens. You put it away for a little while, and now and again you look in the closet for something else… — Alice Munro Copy Share Image
She sits in her usual ample armchair, with piles of books and unopened magazines around her. She sips cautiously from the mug of weak herb tea which is now her substitute for coffee. At one time she thought that she could not live without coffee, but it turned out that it is really the warm large mug she wants in… — Alice Munro Copy Share
The images, the language, of pornography, and romance are alike; monotonous and mechanically seductive, quickly leading to despair. — Alice Munro Copy Share Image
I was a grade B housewife, maybe a B minus. But when I got time to write, I would be unable to finish a sentence. I had anxiety attacks. Partly it was a way of personifying the situation because I couldn't breathe. I was surrounded by people and by duties. I was a housewife and the children's mother, and I… — Alice Munro Copy Share
