A Quote by Lorrie Moore

No matter what terror the earth could produce - winds, seas - a person could produce the same, lived with the same, lived with all that mixed-up nature swirling inside, every bit. There was nothing as complex in the world - no flower or stone - as a single hello from a human being.
Blind metaphysical necessity, which is certainly the same always and every where, could produce no variety of things. All that diversity of natural things which we find suited to different times and places could arise from nothing but the ideas and will of a Being, necessarily existing.
If I lived a billion years more, in my body or yours, there's not a single experience on Earth that could ever be as good as being dead. Nothing.
The standardization and specialization of industrialization was being undermined by globalization. When people in Bangladesh could produce things much more cheaply than anybody could produce them in Detroit, we no longer were the world capital of industrialization.
As long as the Earth can make a spring every year, I can. As long as the Earth can flower and produce nurturing fruit, I can, because I'm the Earth. I won't give up until the Earth gives up.
I try to produce whatever I like, it doesn't really matter what it is. It could be Progressive, it could be deeper, it doesn't matter to me. I produce whatever I like and I hope people enjoy it.
I could hear you, talking to the daffodils and tulips, whispering to the fairies that lived inside their petals. Each separate flower had a different family inside it.
Every human being who has ever lived has the same potential in them for good and evil. Mortal or sorcerer, it doesn't matter. Power has a way of bringing out the worst in people. Mevolent. Serpine. Hitler. Lord Vile. Darquesse. We're all the same." "You just put me on a list with Hitler." "You're going to start sulking again, aren't you?
The people around whom I've lived most of my life, they're similar. They have same expectations of life that aren't exaggerated, they could be accomplished, they could get what they want. But they could not, too. It's not to be taken for granted. Even getting by, and being satisfied, barely, is hard.
I was fortunate that by the time I was born, there were a lot of comforts and at the same time I lived in a neighborhood where it was brought to my eyes every single day that people didn't live like me. Every day I knew that many of my friends "got relief." That was important in my thinking about the world, thinking that not everybody lived that way.
The paparazzi were outside the theatre every single night, but we came up with a cunning ruse. I would wear the same outfit every time - a different T-shirt underneath, but I'd wear the same jacket and zip it up so they couldn't see what I was wearing underneath, and the same hat. So they could take pictures for six months, but it would look like the same day, so they became unpublishable. Which was hilarious, because there's nothing better than seeing paparazzi getting really frustrated.
He wasn't a complete human being at all. He was a tiny bit of one, unnaturally developed; something in a bottle, an organ kept alive in a laboratory. I thought he was a sort of primitive savage, but he was something absolutely modern and up-to-date that only this ghastly age could produce. A tiny bit of a man pretending to be whole.
The world's history is constant, like the laws of nature, and simple, like the souls of men. The same conditions continually produce the same results.
Who in the same given time can produce more than others has vigor; who can produce more and better, has talents; who can produce what none else can, has genius.
If, then, there must be something eternal, let us see what sort of Being it must be. And to that it is very obvious to Reason, that it must necessarily be a cogitative Being. For it is as impossible to conceive that ever bare incogitative Matter should produce a thinking intelligent Being, as that nothing should of itself produce Matter.
I believe there are monsters born in the world to human parents.... The face and body may be perfect, but if a twisted gene or a malformed egg can produce physical monsters, may not the same process produce a malformed soul?
The inner story, though the same in essence for all, is always single and unique in each human being, never before lived and never to be repeated.
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