American - Novelist | March 18, 1932 - January 27, 2009
Some golfers, we are told, enjoy the landscape; but properly, the landscape shrivels and compresses into the grim, surrealistically vivid patch of grass directly under the golfer's eyes as he morosely walks toward where he thinks his ball might be.
John Updike
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Our artistic heroes tend to be those self-exercisers, like Picasso, and Nabokov, and Wallace Stevens, who rather defiantly kept playing past dark.
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Without books, we might just melt into the airwaves and be just another set of blips.
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Does fiction, artistic writing, have much of a future? I must say it's on the way out.
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My attempt has been really to, beyond making a record of contemporary life, which is what you inevitably do, is trying to make beautiful books - books that are in some way beautiful, that are models of how to use the language, models of honest feeling, models of care.
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Gods don't answer letters.
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My father taught only math.
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I don't know; I think I'd be gloomy without some faith that there is a purpose and there is a kind of witness to my life.
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In a city like New York, you're aware of the rich and poor.
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The rich - they just live in another realm, really.
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It's sort of good to see your vocation as a daily task and have fairly modest expectations for financial or reward in other coin - glory, love, whatever.
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A Christian novelist tries to describe the world as it is.
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