“Unconnected to the life of love, uncolored by love, the world resumes its own, its natural and callous importance. This is first a blow, then an odd consolation. And already I felt my old self - my old, devious, ironic,… — Alice Munro Copy Share Image
“As I walked into Jubilee I repossessed the world. Trees, houses, fences, streets, cambe back to me, in their own sober and familiar shapes. Unconnected to the life of love, uncolored by love, the world resumes its own, its natural… — 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… — Alice Munro Copy Share Image
“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… — Alice Munro Copy Share Image
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… — Alice Munro Copy Share Image
