Author: John Updike

Quotes

All love comes from the family.

All love comes from the family.

- John Updike

Dreams come true; without that possibility, nature would not incite us to have them.

Dreams come true; without that possibility, nature would not incite us to have them.

- John Updike

The inner spaces that a good story lets us enter are the old apartments of religion.

The inner spaces that a good story lets us enter are the old apartments of religion.

- John Updike

I was raised in the Depression, when there was a great sense of dog-eat-dog and people fighting over scraps.

I was raised in the Depression, when there was a great sense of dog-eat-dog and people fighting over scraps.

- John Updike

Most Americans haven't had my happy experience of living for thirteen years in a seventeenth-century house, since most of America lacks seventeenth-century houses.

Most Americans haven't had my happy experience of living for thirteen years in a seventeenth-century house, since most of America lacks seventeenth-century houses.

- John Updike

The first breath of adultery is the freest; after it, constraints aping marriage develop.

The first breath of adultery is the freest; after it, constraints aping marriage develop.

- John Updike

What interests me is why men think of women as witches. It's because they're so fascinating and exasperating, so other.

What interests me is why men think of women as witches. It's because they're so fascinating and exasperating, so other.

- John Updike

The study of literature threatens to become a kind of paleontology of failure, and criticism a supercilious psychoanalysis of authors.

The study of literature threatens to become a kind of paleontology of failure, and criticism a supercilious psychoanalysis of authors.

- John Updike

Each morning my characters greet me with misty faces willing, though chilled, to muster for another day's progress through the dazzling quicksand the marsh of blank paper.

Each morning my characters greet me with misty faces willing, though chilled, to muster for another day's progress through the dazzling quicksand the marsh of blank paper.

- John Updike

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