Alice Hoffman
Alice Hoffman
Alice Hoffmanis an American novelist and young-adult and children's writer, best known for her 1995 novel Practical Magic, which was adapted for a 1998 film of the same name. Many of her works fall into the genre of magic realism and contain elements of magic, irony, and non-standard romances and relationships...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionYoung Adult Author
Date of Birth16 March 1952
CountryUnited States of America
art real reading
Do people choose the art that inspires them — do they think it over, decide they might prefer the fabulous to the real? For me, it was those early readings of fairy tales that made me who I was as a reader and, later on, as a storyteller.
dream
I knew what it was to yearn for a life so distant it seemed that it had never been anything more than a dream.
pride funny-things treasure
Pride is a funny thing; it can make what is truly worthless appear to be a treasure.
running mean home
It doesn't matter what people tell you. It doesn't matter what they might say. Sometimes you have to leave home. Sometimes, running away means you're headed in the exact right direction.
emotional rivals fairy-tale
I always felt and still feel that fairy tales have an emotional truth that is so deep that there are few things that really rival them
butterfly men way
Some things, when they change, never do return to the way they once were. Butterflies for instance, and women who've been in love with the wrong man too often.
stones woods want
I didn’t want to be prideful anymore. I wanted to be as hard as and brittle as the stones I carted into the woods. Stones that could not feel or cry or see. I wished not to feel anything at all. In no time, what I wished for, I became.
grief cold speak
My grief was cold. It was nothing to share. It was nothing to speak about, nothing to feel.
childhood way persons
No one knows you like a person with whom you've shared a childhood. No one will ever understand you in quite the same way.
beautiful air hands
Everything was red, the air, the sun, whatever I looked at. Except for him. I fell in love with someone who was human. I watched him walk through the hills and come back in the evening when his work was through. I saw things no woman would see: that he knew how to cry, that he was alone. I cast myself at him, like a fool, but he didn't see me. And then one day he noticed I was beautiful and he wanted me. He broke me off and took me with him, in his hands, and I didn't care that I was dying until I actually was.
pie afternoon village
...and so many orchards circled the village that on some crisp October afternoons the whole wold smelled like pie.
falling-in-love garden rose
There are some things, after all, that Sally Owens knows for certain: Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Plant roses and lavender, for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.
book writing forget-everything
Every time I finish a book, I forget everything I learned writing it - the information just disappears out of my head
husband dark night
When the cold comes to New England it arrives in sheets of sleet and ice. In December, the wind wraps itself around bare trees and twists in between husbands and wives asleep in their beds. It shakes the shingles from the roofs and sifts through cracks in the plaster. The only green things left are the holly bushes and the old boxwood hedges in the village, and these are often painted white with snow. Chipmunks and weasels come to nest in basements and barns; owls find their way into attics. At night,the dark is blue and bluer still, as sapphire of night.