“At sunrise, everything is luminous but not clear”
“At sunrise everything is luminous but not clear. It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us. You can love completely without complete understanding.”
Norman Maclean“For a scientist, this is a good way to live and die, maybe the ideal way for any of us - excitedly finding we were wrong and excitedly waiting for tomorrow to come so we can start over.”
Norman Maclean“... you can love completely without complete understanding.""That I have known and preached." my father said.”
Norman Maclean“At sunrise, everything is luminous but not clear”
Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It“I tried to find something I already knew about life that might help me reach out and touch my brother and get him to look at me and himself.”
Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories“When I looked, I knew I might never again see so much of the earth so beautiful, the beautiful being something you know added to something you see, in a whole that is different from the sum of its parts. What I saw might have been just another winter scene, although an impressive one. But what I knew was that the earth underneath was alive and that by tomorrow, certainly by the day after, it would be all green again. So what I saw because of what I knew was a kind of death with the marvellous promise of less than a three-day resurrection.”
Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories“Ahead and to the west was our ranger station - and the mountains of Idaho, poems of geology stretching beyond any boundaries and seemingly even beyond the world.”
Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories“You can love completely without complete understanding.”
Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories“If you push me far enough, all I really know is that he was a fine fisherman.""You know more than that," my father said. "He was beautiful.”
Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It and Other Stories“I had as yet no notion that life every now and then becomes literature—not for long, of course, but long enough to be what we best remember, and often enough so that what we eventually come to mean by life are those moments when life, instead of going sideways, backwards, forward, or nowhere at all, lines out straight, tense and inevitable, with a complication, climax, and, given some luck, a purgation, as if life had been made and not happened.”
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