Every writing teacher I ever had except for one told me I was an awful writer, had no idea what I was doing, and should stop immediately. It only took the one to tell me something different to light a fire under me.
Catherynne M. ValenteRead
Squeeze your eyes closed, as tight as you can, and think of all your favorite autumns, crisp and perfect, all bound up together like a stack of cards. That is what it is like, the awful, wonderful brightness of Fairy colors. Try to smell the hard, pale wood sending up sharp, green smoke into the afternoon. To feel the mellow, golden sun on your skin, more gentle and cozier and more golden than even the light of your favorite reading nook at the close of the day.
Interpretation
What this quote means
The quote evokes the sensory experiences of autumn and highlights the beauty of its colors and sensations.
In this quote, Catherynne M. Valente beautifully captures the essence of autumn through vivid imagery and sensory details. It invites the reader to immerse themselves in the sights, sounds, and smells of the season, evoking feelings of nostalgia and warmth. The duality of 'awful' and 'wonderful' underscores the complexity of seasonal transitions and the profound impact they have on our emotions and memories. Through her poetic description, Valente encourages appreciation of the ephemeral beauty of nature and the deep connections we form with it.
Themes
AutumnNatureBeautySensesNostalgiaImagination
In practice
Example use cases
This quote can be shared during a nature walk to inspire appreciation for the season.
More from Catherynne M. Valente
All quotes →One of the many quotes on love..."Love can come only with time and sentience. We learn it as we learn language--and some never learn it well. Love is like a tool, though it is not a tool; something strange and wonderful to use, difficult to master, and mysterious in its provenance.
Catherynne M. ValenteRead
I do not tolerate a world emptied of you. I have tried. For a year I have called every black tree Marya Morevna; I have looked for your face in the patterns of the ice. In the dark, I have pored over the loss of you like pale gold.
Catherynne M. ValenteRead
Stories,' the green-eyed Sigrid said, unperturbed, 'are like prayers. It does not matter when you begin, or when you end, only that you bend a knee and say the words.
Catherynne M. ValenteRead
Do you suppose you will look the same when you are an old woman as you do now? Most folk have three faces—the face they get when they’re children, the face they own when they’re grown, and the face they’ve earned when they’re old. But when you live as long as I have, you get many more. I look nothing like I did when I was a wee thing of thirteen. You get the face you build your whole life, with work and loving and grieving and laughing and frowning.
Catherynne M. ValenteRead
A marriage is a private thing. It has its own wild laws, and secret histories, and savage acts, and what passes between married people is incomprehensible to outsiders. We look terrible to you, and severe, and you see our blood flying, but what we carry between us is hard-won, and we made it just as we wished it to be, just the color, just the shape.
Catherynne M. ValenteRead
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