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Wallace Stegner

Wallace Stegner Quotes

Historian

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Famous Wallace Stegner Quotes

“The flimsy little protestations that mark the front gate of every novel, the solemn statements that any resemblance to real persons living or dead is entirely coincidental, are fraudulent every time. A writer has no other material to make his people from than the people of his experience ... The only thing the writer can do is to recombine parts, suppress some characterisitics and emphasize others, put two or three people into one fictional character, and pray the real-life prototypes won't sue.”

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Author:Wallace Stegner
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“How much wilderness do the wilderness-lovers want? ask those who would mine and dig and cut and dam in such sanctuary spots as these. The answer is easy: Enough so that there will be in the years ahead a little relief, a little quiet, a little relaxation, for any of our increasing millions who need and want it.”

WantNeedsYearsLittlesEnoughAsksEasyAnswersMillionsCuttingMinesLoversQuietSpotsReliefWildernessRelaxationSanctuaryDamsNeeds And Wants
Author:Wallace Stegner
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“What is such a resource worth? Anything it costs. If we never hike it or step into its shade, if we only drive by occasionally and see the textures of green mountainside change under wind and sun, or the fog move soft feathers down the gulches, or the last sunset on the continent redden the sky beyond the ridge, we have our money's worth. We have been too efficient at destruction; we have left our souls too little space to breathe in. Every green natural place we save saves a fragment of our sanity and gives us a little more hope that we have a future.”

IfsGivingLittlesHas BeensSoulLastsMovingLeftNaturalSpaceStepsSunSkyWindCostResourcesDestructionGreenBreatheSunsetShadeSanityEfficientContinentsFogFeathersFragmentsTextureRidges
Author:Wallace Stegner
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“A muddy little stream, a village grown unfamiliar with time and trees. I turn around and retrace my way up Main Street and park and have a Coke in the confectionery store. It is run by a Greek, as it used to be, but whether the same Greek or another I would not know. He does not recognize me, nor I him. Only the smell of his place is familiar, syrupy with old delights, as if the ghost of my first banana split had come close to breathe on me.”

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Book:Wolf Willow: A History, a Story, and a Memory of the Last Plains Frontier
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