American - Novelist | August 17, 1925 - May 15, 1998
As in The Lime Twig dream and illusion are right at the center of Charivari.
John C. Hawkes
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My father's parents were Irish. Only a year before my father died, he and I went back to Ireland for a week to look at the old homestead.
FatherParentsWeekYearLookBack
My mother wanted very much to play tennis; she wanted, most of all, to be a singer and play the piano.
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I remember my mother finding mud somehow and putting it on the sting.
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When we lived in Juneau, Alaska, it was a town of about 7,000 people, and totally isolated; the only way to get to it was by ship.
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Really, I didn't like Alaska. It rained, almost every day, at least 300 days out of the year.
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I had to go to Sunday school once or twice in my life, and that's where I commented someplace on hearing.
LifeSchoolMy LifeSundayGoTwice
I was not typical. Whatever typical or normal is, I was somehow separated and different.
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I want prose fiction to be recognized as that, and I'm not interested in writing as it becomes more personal.
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On the night before we were married, all of the anxiety in the world came down upon me.
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I didn't for a moment doubt the choice, but if life is ever fearsome, it is truly fearsome then.
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I didn't know what kind of jobs, because how was I prepared? At best, I would be an AB in English.
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