I cannot imagine a sorrier pursuit than struggling for years to write a book that attempts to appeal to people who do… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
I sip my coffee. I look at the mountain, which is still doing its tricks, as you look at a still-beautiful face… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
She is nine, beloved, as open-faced as the sky and as self-contained. I have watched her grow. As recently as three or… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
Who and of what import were the men whose bones bulk the Great Wall, the thirty million Mao starved, or the thirty… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
About five years ago I saw a mockingbird make a straight vertical descent from the roof gutter of a four-story building. It… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
At night I read and write, and things I have never understood become clear; I reap the harvest of the rest of… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
When I was six or seven years old, growing up in Pittsburgh, I used to take a precious penny of my own… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
When you write, you lay out a line of words. The line of words is a miner's pick, a wood carver's gouge,… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
I had good innings, as the British say. I wrote for 38 years at the top of my form, and I wanted… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
I noticed this process of waking, and predicted with terrifying logic that one of these years not far away I would be… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
There is always the temptation in life to diddle around making itsy-bitsy friends and meals and journeys for years on end. It… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
Out of a human population on earth of four and a half billion, perhaps twenty people can write a book in a… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
I woke in bits, like all children, piecemeal over the years. I discovered myself and the world, and forgot them, and discovered… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
“This is a spendthrift economy; though nothing is lost, all is spent.” — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
Nothing moves a woman so deeply as the boyhood of the man she loves. — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
We live in all we seek. The hidden shows up in too-plain sight. It lives captive on the face of the obvious - the… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
“...The mockingbird took a single step into the air and dropped. His wings were still folded against his sides as though he were singing… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
“Father had stretched out his long legs and was tilting back in his chair. Mother sat with her knees crossed, in blue slacks, smoking… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
It should surprise no one that the life of the writer - such as it is - is colorless to the point of sensory… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
It is madness to wear ladies' straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
The sense impressions of one-celled animals are not edited for the brain. This is philosophically interesting in a rather mournful way, since it means… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
“What can we make of the inexpressible joy of children? It is a kind of gratitude, I think—the gratitude of the ten-year-old who wakes… — Annie Dillard Copy Share Image
