Norman Maclean
Born: 01-01-1869
Norman Maclean was an American author and scholar, best known for his novella "A River Runs Through It." Born in 1902 in Iowa, he spent much of his life in Montana, which deeply influenced his writing. A longtime professor at the University of Chicago, Maclean turned to writing fiction in his later years, blending personal experiences with evocative storytelling. His work is celebrated for its lyrical prose and exploration of nature and family.
Book summaries for books written by Norman Maclean
Quotes
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.
Each one of us here today will at one time in our lives look upon a loved one who is in need and ask the same question: We are willing to help, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed? For it is true we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don't know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted. And so it is those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them - we can love completely without complete understanding.
It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us.
My father was very sure about certain matters pertaining to the universe. To him, all good things - trout as well as eternal salvation - come by grace and grace comes by art and art does not come easy.
Help... is giving part of yourself to somebody who comes to accept it willingly and needs it badly.
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.
I am haunted by waters.
Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.
The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time.
I sat there and forgot and forgot, until what remained was the river that went by and I who watched.
It is not fly fishing if you are not looking for answers to questions.
All there is to thinking is seeing something noticeable which makes you see something you weren't noticing which makes you see something that isn't even visible.