Quote by Lauren Groff

“As I touched the beast I remembered how, even on that long-ago night, I could feel a tremendous thing moving in the depths below me, something vast and white and singing.” quote by Lauren Groff — Download Open image

““As I touched the beast I remembered how, even on that long-ago night, I could feel a tremendous thing moving in the depths below me, something vast and white and singing.””

Lauren Groff

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“But my best friend from college was silent for a long time. She, of all of my friends, had seen the parade of sad wrecks through my life, date after bad date after bad boyfriend. She was the one who'd picked up the pieces after the musician, the investment banker, the humanitarian who was human to everyone but me. When…

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You had to pick up a landline to make sure your best friend wore a matching outfit to school. I do remember people talking…

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“Then, when we had done so, we put our hands upon the freezing cold monster, our monster. And this is what we felt: vertigo, an icicle through our strong hearts, our long-lost childhoods. Sunshine in a field and crickets and the sweet tealeaf stink of a new ball mitt and a rock glinting with mica and a chaw of bubblegum…

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I see history as really cyclical in terms of the intense idealism, and the desire to create a better life outside of societal norms.

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“He thinks of the rotten parachute they played with as kids in Arcadia: they hurtle through life aging unimaginably fast, but each grasps a…

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I love writing from enclosed spaces: you really learn about your characters when they have tight walls to push against.

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“[Still apparent in him, the tiny boy, mewling in cold and hunger. It’s less delicious, this badness bred from survival.]”

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Even still, we run. We have not reached our average of 57.92 years without knowing that you run through it, and it hurts and you run through it some more, and if it hurts worse, you run through it even more, and when you finish, you will have broken through. In the end, when you are done, and stretching, and…

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I had a series of terrible jobs, whatever would allow me to write for four hours during the day. During that time I wrote…

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“The stories themselves aren't what moves him now...What moves him are the shadowy people behind the stories, the workers weary from their days, gathering at night in front of a comforting bit of fire...The world then was no less terrifying than it is now, with our nightmares of bombs and disease and technological warfare. Anything held the ability to set…

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