The writing of a novel is taking life as it already exists, not to report it but to make an object, toward the end that the finished work might contain this life inside it and offer it to the reader.… — Eudora Welty Copy Share Image
“She (my mother) could still recite them (the poems) in full when she was lying helpless and nearly blind, in her bed, an old… — Eudora Welty Copy Share
Long before I wrote stories, I listened for stories. Listening for them is something more acute than listening to them. I suppose it’s an… — Eudora Welty Copy Share
Once you're into a story everything seems to apply-what you overhear on a city bus is exactly what your character would say on the… — Eudora Welty Copy Share
“Two by two, I read library books as fast as I could go, rushing them home in the basket of my bicycle. From the… — Eudora Welty Copy Share
“When somebody, no matter who, gives everything, it makes people feel ashamed for him.” — Eudora Welty Copy Share
“Daydreaming had started me on the way; but story writing, once I was truly in its grip, took me and shook me awake.” — Eudora Welty Copy Share
“All children in those small-town, unhurried days had a vast inner life going on in the movies. Children were allowed to go without chaperone… — Eudora Welty Copy Share
“At the sting in her eyes, she remembered for him that there must be no tears in his.” — Eudora Welty Copy Share
“We do need to bring to our writing, over and over again, all the abundance we possess. To be able, to be ready, to… — Eudora Welty Copy Share
“When one of us (children) caught measles or whooping cough and we were isolated in bad upstairs, we wrote notes to each other perhaps… — Eudora Welty Copy Share
“She (my mother) stood always prepared in herself to challenge the world in our place. She did indeed tend to make the world look… — Eudora Welty Copy Share
“For there is hate as well as love, she supposed, in the coming together and continuing of our lives.” — Eudora Welty Copy Share
“In children's art class we sat in a ring of kindergarten chairs and drew three daffodils that had just been picked out of the… — Eudora Welty Copy Share
People are mostly layers of violence and tenderness wrapped like bulbs, and it is difficult to say what makes them onions or hyacinths. — Eudora Welty Copy Share
