Jean Stafford Quotes & Sayings

For all practical purposes I left home when I was 7. — Jean Stafford

I am growing meaner by the hour. — Jean Stafford

Irony, I feel, is a very high form of morality. — Jean Stafford

If she ever got fat, she thought, or if she ever said anything fat, she would lock herself in a bathroom and stay there until she died," thinks the young protagonist Molly Fawcett. "Often she thought how comfortably you could live in a bathroom. You could put a piece of beaver board on top of the tub and use it as a bed. In the daytime, you could have a cretonne spread on it so that it would look like a divan. You could use the you-know-what as a chair and the lavatory as a table. You wouldn't have to have anything else but some canned corn and marshmallows ... — Jean Stafford

You say that you hope I will be recognized as the best novelist of my generation. I want you to know now and know completely that that would mean to me absolutely nothing. — Jean Stafford

I fell in love with Caligula and now I'm married to Calvin. — Jean Stafford

He does what I have always needed to have done to me, and that is that he dominates me. — Jean Stafford

I read Wolfe's new book _ The Story of a Novel_ and as usual he stole the whole damn thing from me. I am going to write and say will you please stop writing books you bastard. — Jean Stafford

A small silence came between us, as precise as a picture hanging on the wall. — Jean Stafford

She wanted them to go together to some hopelessly disreputable bar and to console one another in the most maudlin fashion over a lengthy succession of powerful drinks of whiskey, to compare their illnesses, to marry their invalid souls for these few hours of painful communion, and to babble with rapture that they were at last, for a little while, they were no longer alone. — Jean Stafford

From time to time, I need a rest from the exercitation of my intellect. — Jean Stafford

For me, there is nothing worse than the knowledge that my life holds nothing for me but being a writer. — Jean Stafford

To her own heart, which was shaped exactly like a valentine, there came a winglike palpitation, a delicate exigency, and all the fragrance of all the flowery springtime love affairs that ever were seemed waiting for them in the whisky bottle. To mingle their pain their handshake had promised them, was to produce a separate entity, like a child that could shift for itself, and they scrambled hastily toward this profound and pastoral experience. — Jean Stafford

It never occurs to her that she will not be a writer and only occasionally does it occur to her, depressingly, that she is going to grow into a woman, not a man. — Jean Stafford

He whirled round and round in his rapid love; it pricked him on the breastbone like a needle. He wanted to be shut up in a small space to think about it. He wanted to grab it and eat it like an apple so that nobody else could have it. — Jean Stafford