“She waited uneasily and shyly. From afar he saw that her eyes--clearly her father's--were filled with desperate innocence. He pictured, in her, his own redemption. Violins and lit candles revolved in the sky. Leo ran forward with flowers out-thrust.” — Bernard Malamud Copy Share Image
Writers who can't invent stories often substitute style for narrative. They remind me of the painter who couldn't paint people, so he painted chairs. — Bernard Malamud Copy Share Image
We have two lives... the life we learn with and the life we live after that. Suffering is what brings us towards happiness. — Bernard Malamud Copy Share Image
“Leo hurried up to bed and hid under the covers. Under the covers he thought his life through. Although he soon fell asleep he… — Bernard Malamud Copy Share Image
First drafts are for learning what your novel or story is about. Revision is working with that knowledge to enlarge and enhance an idea,… — Bernard Malamud Copy Share Image
“Her face deeply moved him. Why, he could at first not say. It gave him the impression of youth--spring flowers, yet age--a sense of… — Bernard Malamud Copy Share Image
I am somewhat of a meliorist. That is to say, I act as an optimist because I find I cannot act at all, as… — Bernard Malamud Copy Share Image
The great thing about writing: Stay with it ... ultimately you teach yourself something very important about yourself. — Bernard Malamud Copy Share Image
We didn't starve, but we didn't eat chicken unless we were sick, or the chicken was — Bernard Malamud Copy Share Image
