“As time went by, it mattered less and less that in 1969 a rocket went from Florida to the moon and men walked there. Good men. People's dads. Those were only events, scattered in time. Draw them close, rub them… — Ann-Marie MacDonald Copy Share Image
“The world should not be organized to require heroines, and when one is required but fails to appear we should not judge. We should… — Ann-Marie MacDonald Copy Share
“It's his last thrill and his last sting of love, as fresh and painful as youth transplanted over time and an ocean. There is… — Ann-Marie MacDonald Copy Share
“By fall, they can read. It happened by osmosis, the way it ought to: after they have spent several months on Daddy's lap, following… — Ann-Marie MacDonald Copy Share
Afterwards, in bed with a book, the spell of television feels remote compared to the journey into the page. To be in a book.… — Ann-Marie MacDonald Copy Share
There are some stories you can't hear enough. They are the same every time you hear them. But you are not. That's one reliable… — Ann-Marie MacDonald Copy Share
Some people talk about children wanting to be born as though somewhere out there in the collective unconscious there's a spirit, or a thought… — Ann-Marie MacDonald Copy Share
“Memory plays tricks. Memory is another word for story, and nothing is more unreliable.” ― Ann-Marie MacDonald, Fall on Your Knees” — Ann-Marie MacDonald Copy Share
Do you think there's such a thing as a ghost who masquerades as a person? Do you believe that there are people whose bodies… — Ann-Marie MacDonald Copy Share
The world should not be organized to require heroines, and when one is required but fails to appear, we should not judge. — Ann-Marie MacDonald Copy Share
“I am burning. I have to live, I have to sing, I want to transform myself into a thousand different characters and carry their… — Ann-Marie MacDonald Copy Share
“No one knows it yet, but Cape Breton is a dress rehearsal for the Great Depression.” — Ann-Marie MacDonald Copy Share
Hope is a gift. You can't choose to have it. To believe and yet to have no hope is to thirst beside a fountain. — Ann-Marie MacDonald Copy Share
