Top Karen Russell Quotes - Quotesmemo.com

Karen Russell Biography

Karen Russell (born July 10, 1981) is an American novelist and short story writer. Her debut novel, Swamplandia!, was a finalist for the 2012 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. She was also the recipient of a MacArthur Foundation "Genius Grant" in 2013. In 2009 the National Book Foundation named her a 5 under 35 honoree.

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Karen Russell Quotes

Somehow I wasn't adding up right anymore. My parts weren't summing into myself.

Adding, Anymore, Parts, Right, Somehow, Summing

It is a special kind of homelessness to be evicted from your dreams.

Dream, Evicted, Homelessness, Kind, Special

I do think that I have a more flexible view of the interactions between people, and between human and non-human protagonists, humans and their landscapes.

People, Protagonists, Think, Thinking, View, Views

I often felt myself to be an outsider, which is great training for all writers.

Felt, Outsider, Outsiders, Training, Writers

In a way, I think we all want to look to that journalistic voice as a kind of global omniscience, a big eye to correct for our own limited purview: "Here's a realistic accounting of the world in which we live. "

Eye, Journalistic, Limited, Purview, Thinking, Voice

I had been eagerly waiting just such a disaster. Storms, wolves, snakebite, floods-these are the occasions to find out how your father sees you, how strong and necessary he thinks you are.

Disaster, Father, Strong, Thinking, Wolves

Granana doesn't understand what the big deal is. She didn't cry at Olivia's funeral, and I doubt she even remembers Olivia's name. Granana lost, like, ninety-two million kids in childbirth. All of her brothers died in the war. She survived the Depression by stealing radish bulbs from her neighbors' garden, and fishing the elms for pigeons. Dad likes to remind us of this in a grave voice, as if it explained her jaundiced pitilessness: "Boys. Your grandmother ate pigeons.

Brother, Dad, Fishing, Garden, Pitilessness, War

My mom says I'm destined to be the sort of man who uses big words but pronounces them incorrectly.

Big, Men, Mom, Pronounces, Use, Words

I came to hate the complainers, with their dry and crumbly lipsticks and their wrinkled rage and their stupid, flaccid, old-people sun hats with brims the breadth of Saturn's rings.

Complainers, Hate, Hats, People, Stupid

I have a B. A. in Spanish, so briefly I thought that somebody might pay me to speak Spanish badly in another country, like Norway.

Country, Might, Norway, Pay, Somebody

Hopes were wallflowers. Hopes hugged the perimeter of a dance floor in your brain, tugging at their party lace, all perfume and hems and doomed expectation. They fanned their dance cards, these guests that pressed against the walls of your heart.

Dance, Heart, Party, Wall, Walls

Any place, then, can become a cemetery. All it takes is your body. It's not fair, I think, and I get this petulant wish for ugly flowers and mourners, my mother's old familiar grief. Somebody I love to tend my future grave. Probably this is the wrong thing to be wishing for.

Flower, Grief, Mother, Petulant, Ugly

So much of the way books get classified has to do with marketing decisions. I think it's more useful to think of literary books and sci-fi
fantasy books as existing on a continuum.

Book, Classified, Decision, Think, Thinking, Useful

If you're short on time, that would be the two-word version of our story: we fell.

Fell, Stories, Story, Two, Version, Would Be

I do think there's something when you have an unbroken day, and it feels like you and your attention can just be together like birds again and you can actually think and dream a little.

Bird, Day, Dream, Thinking, Together

The beginning of the end can feel a lot like the middle when you are living in it.

Ends, Feels, Like, Living, Middle

The girl has a funny way of romanticizing things.

Funny, Girl, Romanticizing, Way

But if you kept thinking about a fight you’d lost, Mom said, you were programming yourself to lose again.

Fighting, Lose, Lost, Mom, Thinking

A single note, held in an amber suspension of time, like a charcoal drawing of Icarus falling. It was sad and fierce all at once, alive with a lonely purity. It went on and on, until my own lungs were burning. “What bird are you calling?” I asked finally, when I couldn’t stand it any longer. The Bird Man stopped whistling. He grinned, so that I could see all his pebbly teeth. “You.

Charcoal, Fall, Lonely, Men, Note, See

Pain collected into deep pockets and I was aware of this painbut somehow I could not seem to feel it. It was like a body-deafness.

Body, Deep, Like, Pain, Pockets, Somehow

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