Carol Ann Shields Quotes - Interesting, Bold, Inspiring, Amusing, Interesting, Serious, Emulating Thoughts of Famous Canadian Novelist, Short Story Writer

Carol Ann Shields was born on 2 June 1935 in Oak Park, Illinois, USA who became a famous American-born Canadian novelist and short story writer. Carol Ann Shields is best known for her 1993 novel The Stone Diaries, for which she received the U.S. Pulitzer Prize for Fiction as well as the Governor General's Award in Canada. Shields died in Victoria in 2003 from breast cancer at the age of 68.

After Carol Ann Shields' death six of her short stories were adapted into the dramatic anthology series The Shields Stories by Shaftesbury Films. Her last novel Unlace was adapted as a play by Alan Gilsenan in 2016. Shields' eldest daughter, Anne Giardini, is also a writer. Giardini has contributed as a columnist to the National Post and has published her first novel, The Sad Truth About Happiness. Anne's second novel, Advice for Italian Boys, was published in 2009. Giardini and her son Nicholas edited Startle and Illuminate, a book of Shields's thoughts and advice on writing, published in 2016.

Shields's youngest daughter, Sarah Cassidy, has published several children's books and young adult novels, including Slick (2010), Windfall (2011), A Boy Named Queen (2016), and Nevers (2019), which was nominated for the Governor General's Award for Young People's Literature. In 2020, the Carole Shields Prize for Fiction, named after Carole Ann Shields, was announced as a new literary award to honour writing by Canadian and American women. Interesting, bold, inspiring, amusing, interesting, serious, exemplary thoughts and poems of Carol Ann Shields, a famous Canadian novelist, short story writer

Open a book this minute and start reading. Don't move until you reach the fiftieth page. Until you bury your thoughts in the printed pages. Cover yourself with words. Wash yourself. Dissolve.

In one day I had changed my life. Therefore, my life was changeable. This simple axiom didn't need to be explained. No, it entered straight into my bloodstream, as powerful as heroin. I could feel it pump and surge, the way it made my veins shine like a kind of mirror. I had awakened that morning with narcissism and predestination and now I was sleeping in the storm of my own free will.

Every life has chapters that are rarely read and certainly not out loud.

Words are our life. We are human because we use language. So I think we are less human when we use less language.

Being a person is hard work, you have to do it every day.

Anyone's childhood can be an act of incompetence if it is replayed and seen in a certain light. 

Why should men be allowed to walk around under the privilege of their life's adventures, wearing them like a breast full of medals, while women grow completely old and silent under their weight? The scolding voice is her own, so hoarse and loud, yet so powerless to move her. Nothing she did or said was exactly what she wanted, but her life can still be called a monument set up in the slant of available light and with the tempo of possible music. A woman's life is not worth a plateful of cabbage if she has not felt life under her heart. To nurse a little child, to watch it grow into an adult, that is love. Bookish people, who are often clumsy people, tend to think that they can master any subtlety as long as it has been molded into acceptable explanatory prose. Childhood is what one wants to remember. It leaves no fossils, except perhaps the imagination. She feels she must record this insight in her diary--otherwise she will forget, for she is always learning and forgetting and obliged to learn again.

We are too kind, too willing--too unwilling even--to extend a hand indiscriminately, but do not know how to ask for what we want.

To describe life is deceitful...even our own stories are obscenely distorted.

He dare not worry about the future for fear of disturbing the present.

After all, everything is stuck between the parentheses or buried under the trunk.

The great loneliness of our lives grows out of our unwillingness to expend ourselves, to stimulate ourselves. We are always calming down the weather within us, allowing ourselves the comfort of postponements, rehearsals

Here's to another year and hope it gets off the ground.

Our friendship is built from these brief frenzied exchanges, but the quality of our conversations, for all its furious flow, is real.

This is why I read novels so I can escape my constant monologue.

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