Anita Shreve
Anita Shreve
Anita Shreveis an American writer. The daughter of an airline pilot and a homemaker, she graduated from Dedham High School in Massachusetts, attended Tufts University and began writing while working as a high school teacher in Reading, MA. One of her first published stories, Past the Island, Drifting,was awarded an O. Henry Prize in 1976...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionWriter
CountryUnited States of America
loss men thinking
Sydney discovers that she minds the loss of her mourning. When she grieved, she felt herself to be intimately connected to Daniel. But with each passing day, he floats away from her. When she thinks about him now, it is more as a lost possibility than as a man. She has forgotten his breath, his musculature.
night love-is thinking
I learned that night that love is never as ferocious as when you think it is going to leave you. We are not always allowed this knowledge, and so our love sometimes becomes retrospective.
hurt thinking water
Sometimes I think that if it were possible to tell a story often enough to make the hurt ease up, to make the words slide down my arms and away from me like water, I would tell that story a thousand times.
hurt thinking stories
I think about the hurt that stories cannot ease, not with a thousand tellings.
thinking soul desire
Olympia thinks often about desire - desire that stops the breath, that causes a preoccupied pause in the midst of uttering a sentence - and how it may upend a life and threaten to dissolve the soul.
love thinking love-is
Love is never as ferocious as when you think it's going to leave you.
thinking
There are more experiences in life than you’d think for which there are no words.
till written
I start writing at 7.30 A.M. and write till noon. I've never written a single word after 5.00 P.M.
struggle infinite possibility
the enduring struggle to capture in words the infinite possibilities of a life not lived.
persons knows
But how do you ever know that you know a person?
struggle character successful
Sometimes it seems to me that all of life is a struggle to contain the natural impulses of the body and spirit, and that what we call character represents only the degree to which we are successful in this endeavor.
blood air body
And she thought then how strange it was that disaster--the sort of disaster that drained the blood from your body and took the air out of your lungs and hit you again and again in the face--could be at times, such a thing of beauty.
enough said ifs
I loved him," Muire said. "We were in love." As if that were enough.
grief exhausting
Among other things, Kathryn knew, grief was physically exhausting.