In the reading and writing life, delight, for me, is where the mystery lies. Easy enough to figure out how scenes of violence or tragedy or titillation or grossness or even sentimentality can move us, but how the written word… — Alice McDermott Copy Share Image
“Some vestige of his race or of his sex made him think, whenever he looked out across the ocean: As it was before me… — Alice McDermott Copy Share Image
“If you want to see how far we have not come from the cave and the woods, from the lonely and dangerous days of… — Alice McDermott Copy Share Image
“John Keane pressed his chest to the steering wheel as he put the key in the ignition, taking a deep breath as he did,… — Alice McDermott Copy Share Image
“The fourth contraction seized her and suddenly she was perspiring. She heard herself cry out and then she heard the children’s voices like sparks… — Alice McDermott Copy Share Image
“THE TINY SPIDERS that lived in the higher branches of the downed tree (which now meant the branches that lay on the other side… — Alice McDermott Copy Share Image
What makes a sentence, a phrase, a moment, or a scene delightful? Something about recognizing the truth in it, hearing the music in it,… — Alice McDermott Copy Share Image
“Michael had slipped beyond the crest of the dune. Jacob was lying flat out now, on his stomach, his little men all before him,… — Alice McDermott Copy Share Image
“Not a soul,” Mary Keane said to her husband, the wind lifting her words, tossing them gently back over her shoulder, the way it… — Alice McDermott Copy Share Image
“There wasn’t a tear to be seen on the faces of the men and women in the street as the two of them walked… — Alice McDermott Copy Share Image
“His love for his children bore down on his heart with the weight of three heavy stones. There were all his unnamed fears for… — Alice McDermott Copy Share Image
“Mr. Persichetti knew that six weeks before its time and with a good thirty-minute ride to the hospital once the ambulance came (would it… — Alice McDermott Copy Share Image
