Hilma Wolitzer > Quotes

“My adrenaline started pumping anytime I was within a hundred yards of a bookshop. I loved books nearly as much as I loved clothes. And that's saying something. The feel of them and the smell of them. A bookshop was like like an Aladdin's Cave for me. Entire worlds and lives can be found just behind that glossy cover. All you had to do was look.”
― Hilma Wolitzer, Summer Reading

“Only reading, she knew, could distract her from her obsessive thoughts and restore her sense of peace.”
― Hilma Wolitzer, Summer Reading

“Only reading, she knew, could distract her from her obssessive thoughts and restore her sense of peace.”
― Hilma Wolitzer, Summer Reading

“She was the product of her circumstances, of her time and place...”
― Hilma Wolitzer, Today a Woman Went Mad in the Supermarket: Stories

“The very worst thing, she was certain, was not human misery, but its nakedness, and the naked witness of others.”
― Hilma Wolitzer, Today a Woman Went Mad in the Supermarket: Stories

“Writing fiction is a solitary occupation but not really a lonely one. The writer's head is mobbed with characters, images and language, making the creative process something like eavesdropping at a party for which you've had the fun of drawing up the guest list. Loneliness usually doesn't set in until the work is finished, and all the partygoers and their imagined universe have disappeared.”
― Hilma Wolitzer

“Bee had been the glue that held them all together, then he was the Velcro. Not as secure, maybe, but there would be an awful tearing sound if he pulled away.”
― Hilma Wolitzer, An Available Man

“The worst moment came when Julie bleated, “Mom, Mom,” sounding as plaintive as some lamb separated from the flock.”
― Hilma Wolitzer, An Available Man

“Amy Weitz had said that the dead seem to hang around for a while, as if to guide and comfort us, and then slowly disappear into an unapproachable distance. How did we let them go?”
― Hilma Wolitzer, An Available Man

“When Bee was dying, we—she had to decide about dubious experimental treatments, about when to tell people, about what to do with her last days.” He made it sound like a calm, sane period, without storms of weeping and irrational wishes—the terrible struggle to decide anything at all. The whole table had grown silent. Henry looked solemn, Sybil close to tears. Edward had ruined the mood of their party, but at least he’d brought Bee back—if only briefly—to this room where she, too, had once enjoyed delicious food and vigorous, theoretical arguments among friends. He felt strangely relieved, even celebratory.”
― Hilma Wolitzer, An Available Man

“Writing fiction is a solitary occupation but not really a lonely one. The writer's head is mobbed with characters, images and language.”
― Hilma Wolitzer

“He readied himself for an outburst of anger that never happened. So he became angry for her and tried not to show it in her presence.”
― Hilma Wolitzer, An Available Man

“But if they spoke of Bee, he believed he would not be able to bear it, and if they didn’t, it might be equally terrible.”
― Hilma Wolitzer, An Available Man

“I thought how difficult it was, how impossible all marriages really are, each person coming to battle with separate and complicated histories. It made a case for incest.”
― Hilma Wolitzer, Ending: A Novel

“But then men fall in love with them, and babies are nourished at them, and they sag a little or a lot from years of service, and you mourn the beauty you were late to recognize, and you start to think of cancer.”
― Hilma Wolitzer, The Doctor's Daughter: A Novel

“She reported that when she’d told her doctor she was losing it, he said that she’d likely had too much to begin with.”
― Hilma Wolitzer, An Available Man

“Nor did the word closure that a few of the mourners said they hoped to achieve. Edward believed that they thought of it as a door closing softly on their grief, but he was afraid it might shut out more than they’d bargained for, memories of love and pleasure as well as of loss.”
― Hilma Wolitzer, An Available Man

“The recently dead were such a social menace. Their absence was as aggressive as the loudest voice in a room. You could not speak of them without sorrow, or ignore them without shame and even trepidation. They ruined the natural flow of conversation and the pleasurable balance of coupledom. It had been tolerable somehow during that unreal but official period of mourning, when they’d all come to him with their casseroles and consolation. But tonight was a kind of debut, or at least a reentry into the real world. Edward was on his own now; he would be the extra man in the room, the odd number at the table.”
― Hilma Wolitzer, An Available Man