Kent Haruf Quotes

You have to believe in yourself despite the evidence.

Who does ever get what they want? It doesn’t seem to happen to many of us if any at all. It’s always two people bumping against each other blindly, acting out old ideas and dreams and mistaken understandings.

He wanted to think of words that would make some difference but there were none in any language he knew that were sufficient to the moment or that would change a single thing.

I do love this physical world. I love this physical life with you. And the air and the country. The backyard, the gravel in the back alley. The grass. The cool nights. Lying in bed talking with you in the dark.

I made up my mind I’m not going to pay attention to what people think. I’ve done that too long—all my life. I’m not going to live that way anymore.

Who would have thought at this time in our lives that we’d still have something like this. That it turns out we’re not finished with changes and excitements. And not all dried up in body and spirit.

You have been good for me. What more could anyone ask for? I’m a better person than I was before we got together. That’s your doing.

I just want to live simply and pay attention to what's happening each day.

But we didn’t know anything in our twenties when we were first married. It was all just instinct and the patterns we’d grown up with.

Who would have thought at this time in our lives that we’d still have something like this.

A girl is different. They want things. They need things on a regular schedule. Why, a girl's got purposes you and me can't even imagine. They got ideas in their heads you and me can't even suppose.

So life hasn't turned out right for either of us, not the way we expected,' he said. 'Except it feels good now, at this moment.

Honey, Maggie Jones said. Victoria. Listen to me. You're here now. This is where you are.

Sins of omission, Louis said. You don’t believe in sins. I believe there are failures of character, like I said before. That’s a sin.

You’re going to die some day without ever having had enough trouble in your life. Not of the right kind anyway.

Not like I was. I’ve come to believe in some kind of afterlife. A return to our true selves, a spirit self. We’re just in this physical body till we go back to spirit.

Oh I feel better already talking with you here next to me.

You are still in love with her. No. But I think I'm in love a little with the memory of her.

Where are you? You mean where in the house? Are you in your bedroom? Yes, I've been reading. Is this some kind of phone sex? It's just two old people talking in the dark, Addie said.

You understand? If you can read you can cook. You can always feed yourselves. You remember that.

It seems to me nothing man has done or built on this land is an improvement over what was here before.

You don't deserve it, he said aloud. Don't ever begin to think that you do.

You can't fix things, can you, Louis said. We always want to. But we can't.

I don't imagine I'll ever get over missing him, Raymond said. Some things you don't get over. I believe this'll be one of them.

Our Souls at Night open onto larger insights about getting older?

Here was this man Tom Guthrie in Holt standing at the back window in the kitchen of his house smoking cigarettes and looking out over the back lot where the sun was just coming up.

This boy needs a dog. What makes you say that? He needs someone or something to play with besides his phone and an old man and an old woman doddering around.

The evening wasn’t cold yet... But the air was turning sharp, with a fall feeling of loneliness coming. Something unaccountable pending in the air.

Don’t you have any scars? Inside. Do you? Of course. You don’t act like it. I don’t intend to. It doesn’t do much good, does it?

I wonder if you would come and sleep in the night with me. And talk.

And they had folded his brother's hands across his suited chest, as if he would be preserved in this sanguine pose forever, but only the heavy callouses visible at the sides of his hands seemed real. It was only the callouses that appeared to be familiar and believable.

You're going to mess this up, do you know that? You don't even see what's in front of you. You're like everybody else. No, I'm not. You're dreaming backward.

You’re going to die some day without ever having had enough trouble in your life. Not of the right kind anyway. This is your chance.

And so we know the satisfaction of hate. We know the sweet joy of revenge. How it feels good to get even. Oh, that was a nice idea Jesus had. That was a pretty notion, but you can't love people who do evil. It's neither sensible or practical. It's not wise to the world to love people who do such terrible wrong. There is no way on earth we can love our enemies. They'll only do wickedness and hatefulness again. And worse, they'll think they can get away with this wickedness and evil, because they'll think we're weak and afraid. What would the world come to? But I want to say to you here on this hot July morning in Holt, what if Jesus wasn't kidding? What if he wasn't talking about some never-never land? What if he really did mean what he said two thousand years ago? What if he was thoroughly wise to the world and knew firsthand cruelty and wickedness and evil and hate? Knew it all so well from personal firsthand experience? And what if in spite of all that he knew, he still said love your enemies? Turn your cheek. Pray for those who misuse you. What if he meant every word of what he said? What then would the world come to? And what if we tried it? What if we said to our enemies: We are the most powerful nation on earth. We can destroy you. We can kill your children. We can make ruins of your cities and villages and when we're finished you won't even know how to look for the places where they used to be. We have the power to take away your water and to scorch your earth, to rob you of the very fundamentals of life. We can change the actual day into actual night. We can do these things to you. And more. But what if we say, Listen: Instead of any of these, we are going to give willingly and generously to you. We are going to spend the great American national treasure and the will and the human lives that we would have spent on destruction, and instead we are going to turn them all toward creation. We'll mend your roads and highways, expand your schools, modernize your wells and water supplies, save your ancient artifacts and art and culture, preserve your temples and mosques. In fact, we are going to love you. And again we say, no matter what has gone before, no matter what you've done: We are going to love you. We have set our hearts to it. We will treat you like brothers and sisters. We are going to turn our collective national cheek and present it to be stricken a second time, if need be, and offer it to you. Listen, we-- But then he was abruptly halted.

This ain't going to be no goddamn Sunday school picnic.

People in their houses at night. These ordinary lives. Passing without their knowing it. I’d hoped to recapture something. The officer stared at him. The precious ordinary. I

quit trying to fix things and we settled into our long polite and quiet life.

You can't fix things, can you, Louis said. We always want to. But we can't.

Who does ever get what they want? It doesn't seem to happen to many of us if any at all. It's always two people bumping against each other blindly, acting out old ideas and dreams and mistaken understandings. Except I still say that this isn't true of you and me. Not right now, not today.

That was on a night in August. Dad Lewis died early that morning and the young girl Alice from next door got lost in the evening and then found her way home in the dark by the streetlights of town and so returned to the people who loved her. And in the fall the days turned cold and the leaves dropped off the trees and in the winter the wind blew from the mountains and out on the high plains of Holt County there were overnight storms and three-day blizzards.

Why hell, look at us. Old men alone. Decrepit old bachelors out here in the country seventeen miles from the closest town which don't amount to much of a good goddamn even when you get there. Think of us. Crotchety and ignorant. Lonesome. Independent. Set in all our ways. How you going to change now at this age of life? I can't say, Raymond said. But I'm going to. That's what I know.

Love is the most important part of life, isn't it. If you have love you can live in this world in a true way and if you love each other you can see past everything and accept what you don't understand and forgive what you don't know or don't like. Love is all. Love is patient and boundless and right-hearted and long-suffering. I hope you may love each other all your days of life together. And I hope you may have a great many years of those days.

Addie and Louis sat down in front. She had arranged the funeral and told the minister about Ruth. He hadn't known her at all. She had stopped going to any church because of her feeling about orthodoxy and the childish ways in which churches talked and thought about God.

People in their houses at night. These ordinary lives. Passing without their knowing it. Bid hoped to recapture something. The officer stared at him. The precious ordinary.

I’ve come to believe in some kind of afterlife. A return to our true selves, a spirit self. We’re

I've come to believe in some kind of afterlife. A return to our true selves, a spirit self. We're just in this physical body till we go back to spirit.

I believe there are failures of character, like I said before. That’s a sin.

people do. But, Daddy, it’s not right. I didn’t know you even cared for Addie Moore. Or even knew her that well. You’re right. I didn’t. But that’s the main point of this being a good time. Getting to know somebody well at this age. And finding out you like her and discovering you’re not just all dried up after all. It just seems embarrassing. To whom? It’s not to me. But people know about you. Of course they do. And I don’t give a damn. Who told you? It must’ve been one of your tightass friends in town here. It was Linda Rogers. She would. Well, she thought I should know. And now you do.

The title of Kent Haruf’s Our Souls at Night promised just that. I read it in a few hours, tranquilized by its tenderness for two widowed characters who find late-life intimacy in the simplest of ways.

You're not talking to her, Maggie Jones said. You and Raymond don't talk like you should to that girl. Women want to hear some conversation in the evening. We don't think that's too much to ask. We're willing to put up with a lot from you men, but in the evening we want to hear some talking. We want to have a little conversation in the house.

The shaggy saddle horses, already winter-coated, stood with their backs to the wind, watching the two men in the corral, the horses’ tails blowing out, their breath snorted out in white plumes and carried away in tatters by the wind.

I’m talking about getting through the night, she says. And lying warm in bed, companionably. Lying down in bed together and you staying the night. The nights are the worst. Don’t you think? Yes. I think so, he says. "Our souls at night

Alene looked out toward the fading sky. There was only a little light remaining. It would turn nighttime now and soon they would return to the house. I would be too cool to sit outside. It would get dark out. I'm so lonely, she said. I had my chance and I lost it.

Love is the most important part of life isn't it. If you have love, you can live in this world in a true way and if you love each other you can see past everything and accept what you don't understand and forgive what you don't now or don't like. Love is all. Love is patient and boundless and right-hearted and long-suffering.

They don’t come to church on Sunday morning to think about new ideas or even the old important ones. They want to hear what they’ve been told before, with only some small variation on what they’ve been hearing all their lives, and then they want to go home and eat pot roast and say it was a good service and feel satisfied. But

Often in the morning they rode out along the tracks on Easter and took their lunch and once rode as far as the little cemetery halfway to Norka where there was a stand of cottonwood trees with their leaves washing and turning in the wind, and they ate lunch there in the freckled shade of the trees and came back in the late afternoon with the sun sliding down behind them, making a single shadow of them and the horse together, the shadow out in front like a thin dark antic precursor of what they were about to become.

Sins of omission, Louis said. You don’t believe in sins. I believe there are failures of character, like I said before. That’s a sin.

It was surprising to him, how quickly she could fall asleep.

The precious ordinary. I

È sempre un incontro alla cieca tra due persone che mettono in scena vecchie idee e sogni e impressioni sbagliate.

I didn’t “teach” Ron Hansen or Stephen Wright or T. Coraghessan Boyle or Susan Taylor Chehak or Allan Gurganus or Gail Harper or Kent Haruf or Robert Chibka or Douglas Unger how to write, but I hope I may have encouraged them and saved them a little time. I did nothing more for them than Kurt Vonnegut did for me, but in my case Mr. Vonnegut—and Mr. Yount and Mr. Williams—did quite a lot. I’m talking about technical blunders, the perpetration of sheer boredom, point-of-view problems, the different qualities of first-person and third-person voice, the deadening effect of exposition in dialogue, the crippling limitations of the present tense, the intrusions upon narrative momentum caused by puerile and pointless experimentation—and on and on.

Who does ever get what they want? It doesn't seem to happen to many of us if any at all. It's always two people bumping against each other blindly, acting out of old ideas and dreams and mistaken understandings.

When he reached the wire gate he stopped and stood looking back toward the horse barn and the cow lots. Then he raised his head and peered up at the stars. He spoke aloud. You dumb old son of a bitch, he said. You dumb old ignorant stupid son of a bitch. Then

Quante volte sono entrato e uscito da quella porta. Non è così, Mary? Secondo te quante volte, caro? Sei giorni alla settimana, cinquantadue settimane all’anno per cinquantacinque anni, rispose lui. Quanto fa? Fa una vita intera. È vero. È la vita di un uomo, disse Dad

Love is the most important part of life isn't it. If you have love, you can live in this world in a true way and if you love each other you can see past everything and accept what you don't understand and forgive what you don't know or don't like. Love is all. Love is patient and boundless and right-hearted and long-suffering. Move

Mi chiedevo se ti andrebbe qualche volta di venire a dormire da me." "Cosa? In che senso?" "Nel senso che siamo tutti e due soli. Ce ne stiamo per conto nostro da troppo tempo. Da anni. Io mi sento sola. Penso che anche tu lo sia. Mi chiedevo se ti andrebbe di venire a dormire da me, la notte. E parlare. Sto parlando di attraversare la notte insieme. Le notti sono la cosa peggiore, non trovi?

So when I say they were stuck, I don’t mean they were stuck just a little bit. I don’t mean they were just sort of stuck the way you might be if you stepped into some mud and you were able to get out of it if you made the effort, and once you were out of it about all the loss you’d have to show was that you might have to leave a pair of good new shoes behind you in the mud. No, I mean they were deep stuck. I mean it was like they were stuck clear up to their chins, almost up to eye level, and no real effort was even possible. They might manage to wiggle their arms a little bit now and then, they might turn their heads a few degrees, but they couldn’t get out no matter what, and about all they could see in any direction around them, when they did manage to turn their heads a little bit, was just more mud. More of the same.

Addie Moore had a grandson named Jamie who was just turning six. In the early summer the trouble between his parents got worse. There were bad arguments in the kitchen and bedroom, accusations and recriminations, her tears and his shouts. They finally separated on a trial basis and she went off to California to stay with a friend, leaving Jamie with his father. He called Addie and told her what happened, that his wife had quit her job as a hairdresser and had gone out to the West Coast.

Addie was lying under a cotton sheet, and then he turned toward her and without his knowing she had drawn the sheet back and was lying naked on the bed in the low light of the bedside lamp. He stood looking at her. Don’t stand there, she said. You make me nervous. Don’t be, he said. You look lovely. I’m too heavy around the hips and stomach. This old body. I’m an old woman now. Well, old woman Moore. You’ve won me completely. You’re just right. You’re how you’re supposed to look. You’re not supposed to be some thirteen-year-old girl without any breasts and hips.

Lo aiutarono a trasferirsi in veranda e rimasero a guardare la pioggia che cadeva sull’erba e sulla ghiaia che ricopriva la strada. Nei punti più bassi si erano già formate delle pozzanghere e i pioppi argentati erano scuri e grondavano acqua. Lorraine sporse una mano nella pioggia e si picchettò la faccia, poi mise le mani a coppa per raccogliere l’acqua che cadeva dalla grondaia e la appoggiò sul volto di Dad. Lui rimase lì, tenendosi al bastone, con il viso che gocciolava. Lo fissarono, lui guardò dritto oltre il prato, al di là della recinzione di ferro, al di là della strada bagnata, fino al terreno adiacente, pensando a qualcosa. Non ha un buon odore? disse Mary. Già, rispose lui piano. Aveva gli occhi umidi, ma gli altri non avrebbero saputo dire se di lacrime o di pioggia

People in their houses at night. These ordinary lives. Passing without their knowing it. He'd hoped to recapture something. The officer stared at him. The precious ordinary.

Alice,

This country's crazy in terms of fame and what people think it means. They expect a writer to be something between a Hollywood starlet and the village idiot.

Well, I’m just going to say it. I’m listening, Louis said. I wonder if you would consider coming to my house sometimes to sleep with me.

He should of taken it last year.

does ever get what they want? It doesn’t seem to happen to many of us if any at all. It’s always two people bumping against each other blindly, acting out of old ideas and dreams and mistaken understandings. Except I still say that this isn’t true of you and me. Not right now, not today. I

does ever get what they want? It doesn’t seem to happen to many of us if any at all. It’s always two people bumping against each other blindly,

People don’t want to be disturbed. They want assurance. They don’t come to church on Sunday morning to think about new ideas or even the old important ones. They want to hear what they’ve been told before, with only some small variation on what they’ve been hearing all their lives, and then they want to go home and eat pot roast and say it was a good service and feel satisfied.

Who does ever get what they want? It doesn’t seem to happen to many of us if any at all. It’s always two people bumping against each other blindly, acting out of old ideas and dreams and mistaken understandings.

I told you I don’t want to live like that anymore—for other people, what they think, what they believe. I don’t think it’s the way to live. It isn’t for me anyway. All right. I wish I had your good sense. You’re right, of course. Are you over it now? I’m getting there. Do you want another beer? No. But if you want more wine I’ll sit here with you while you drink it. I’ll just watch you.

I got up and left the house and drove out in the country, the stars were all shining and there were the farmlights and yardlights all looking blue in the dark. Everything looking normal, except nothing was normal anymore, everything was at some kind of cliff’s edge, and late that night I came back.

You don’t believe in sins. I believe there are failures of character, like I said before. That’s a sin. Well, you’re here now. This is where I want to be now.

Somebody who would go to Italy with you and get up on a Saturday morning and take you up in the mountains and get snowed on and come home and be filled up with it all.

I’d appreciate it if you would just call me a goddamn son of a bitch, Louis said. A man too foolish for words. All right. You’re a foolish son of a bitch. Thank you, he said.

It’s always two people bumping against each other blindly, acting out of old ideas and dreams and mistaken understandings.

Why can’t they figure it out that women take more time and need more stalls? You know why, he said. Because men are the ones who design these things, that’s why.

As the weather held that fall Louis often walked out at night past her house and looked at the light shining upstairs in her bedroom, her bedside lamp that he knew and the room with its big bed and dark wooden dresser and the bathroom located down the hall, and remembered everything about the room and the nights lying in the dark talking and the closeness of it all.

¿Lo echabas de menos? Por supuesto. Sobre todo la intimidad. Ya no teníamos la misma. Teníamos un trato cordial y formalmente agradable y educado, pero nada más. No

Diane tenía una idea, un concepto de cómo debería ser la vida, el matrimonio, que no coincidió nunca con lo que tuvimos. En ese sentido le fallé.

The next day a call came for Holly. She told Louis about it. It was Julie Newcomb. Just like Linda Rogers, she had to tell me about you. I said I already knew. I said, But I’m glad you called. I was thinking about you the other day. I was out in a restaurant and ordered lamb. It made me wonder if your husband’s still fucking sheep. She said, Fuck you, bitch, I was doing you a favor. Then she hung up.

He wants to see Daddy before he’s gone. They never cared for each other before. It’s how people are when somebody’s dying. They want to forget the past. Forgive things. Just so he doesn’t upset him.

Someone would cut his name into the face of a tombstone and it would be as if he never was.

I might get me some kind of better grade of beer before I go. A guy I was talking to said something about Belgian beer. Maybe I’ll try some of that. If I can get it around here.

That’s not what I’m saying. Your best might not be good enough. This is my wife here. This lady means everything to me in the world. I hear you. But—

She did. It was hotter than billy hell out there. I’m glad you’ve come. She’s all tired out. I’m afraid she might get down too far. I never wanted her to have to take care of me like this.

I don’t want to bother your father, but I’ll come again if that’s all right. Yes. I think it would be. I don’t know that he’s very religious. No. Not in any orthodox way. I understand that. In his own way perhaps. Perhaps.

I don’t want to bother your father, but I’ll come again if that’s all right. Yes. I think it would be. I don’t know that he’s very religious. No. Not in any orthodox way. I understand that. In his own way perhaps. Perhaps. Well. I’ll be going. He held out his hand to shake hers and instead she surprised him and hugged him. He was a good deal taller than she was. Thank you for coming, she said again.

onto the bare ground next to the cement foundation of the old house when Lorraine came out and said she had a phone call.

In the house Dad said, Go see about her, will you? She won’t talk to me now. Lorraine went out to the porch. Can I sit with you, Mom? No, I don’t want any company. I don’t want to speak to you or anybody else right now.

Johnson women