Home / Quotes / Quote by Sherwood Anderson

Quote by Sherwood Anderson

“Would it not be better to have it understood that realism, in so far as the word means reality to life, is always bad art -- although it may possibly be very good journalism?”

Book:The Sherwood Anderson reader

Work

The Sherwood Anderson reader

This reader compiles a selection of works from Sherwood Anderson, showcasing his contributions to American literature with a focus on his distinctive narrative style and exploration of social themes. more

Author

Sherwood Anderson

American novelist known for his profound insights into the lives of the American middle class. Anderson's works often focus on the inner world and social status of ordinary people, and his style is concise and direct, which has had a profound impact on American literature. more

“There is a note that comes into the human voice by which you may know real weariness. It comes when one has been trying with all his heart and soul to think his way along some difficult road of thought. Of a sudden he finds himself unable to go on. Something within him stops. A tiny explosion takes place. He bursts into words and talks, perhaps foolishly. Little side currents of his nature he didn't know were there run out and get themselves expressed. It is at such times that a man boasts, uses big words, makes a fool of himself in general.”

Source: Triumph of the Egg and Other Stories

“I wanted to run away from everything but I wanted to run towards something too.”

Running Wanted Running Away

Book:Sherwood Anderson: Collected Stories: Winesburg, Ohio / The Triumph of the Egg / Horses and Men / Death in the Woods / Uncollected Stories (Library of America #235)

Source: Sherwood Anderson: Collected Stories: Winesburg, Ohio / The Triumph of the Egg / Horses and Men / Death in the Woods / Uncollected Stories (Library of America #235)

“In Middle America men are awakening. Like awkward and untrained boys we begin to turn toward maturity and with our awakening we hunger for song. But in our towns and fields there are few memory haunted places. Here we stand in roaring city streets, on steaming coal heaps, in the shadow of factories from which come only the grinding roar of machines. We do not sing but mutter in the darkness. Our lips are cracked with dust and with the heat of furnaces. We but mutter and feel our way toward the promise of song.”