Julia Cameron Quotes

I'm not really a bird person or an Audubon guy who studies them, but as I was around them, they interested me.

The most ordinary conditions for observing sailing birds are then the wind and sea are both aft.

I write at a desk. I have a room of my own where I can have my computer. I write in there, usually directly onto my computer. It used to be the room where my two sons used to sleep with the dog and the cat, but now it's all mine. It has pictures of art from my books on the walls.

Large meadows are lovely for picnics and romping, but they are for the lighter feelings. Meadows do not make me want to write.

For 'The Gift of Stones,' I spent an afternoon chasing a flock of Canadian geese.

Real writers - serious writers with serious subjects, who earn their living at it - all seem to write in small rooms with that knotty-pine 1974 look on the top-floor rear of their houses. Rooms with views.

To a man, ornithologists are tall, slender, and bearded so that they can stand motionless for hours, imitating kindly trees, as they watch for birds.

Numbers of snipes breed every summer in some moory ground on the verge of this parish.

There is not a bird that flies by without our knowledge.

For most of my life, I didn't pay attention to birds.

I write in an old-school paneled study in the middle of a large farmhouse in rural Iowa. I have pine floors, a big cherry desk, and a small window. The room is cluttered with papers and books and gifts from friends.

I don't have one favourite spot - I love writing anywhere that I feel inspired. I have to admit that I do love getting cosy in bed or under blankets on the sofa and writing from there.

I believe I saw a woodcock. He had a long bill like putting a fire hydrant into a pencil sharpener, then pasting it onto a bird and letting the bird fly away in front of me with this thing on its face for no other purpose than to amaze me.

Birds, except when broiled and in the society of a cold bottle, bored him stiff.

Hast thou named all the birds without a gun?

I believe one would write better if the climate were bad. If there were a lot of wind and storms for example.

Few forms of life are so engaging as birds.

And to lose the chance to see frigatebirds soaring in circles above the storm, or a file of pelicans winging their way homeward across the crimson afterglow of the sunset, or a myriad terns flashing in the bright light of midday as they hover in a shifting maze above the beach -- why, the loss is like the loss of a gallery of the masterpieces of the artists of old time.

My experience of fiction was, in the beginning, so exploratory. I wasn't sitting down to a desk at Yaddo with a month, thinking I have to have a draft of a novel.

I saw a cardinal when I was in Brooklyn, and I was almost moved to tears. I was, like, 'I can't believe this thing is legal. I can't believe this thing is in the wild. How did this happen? How has someone not killed them all? They're so conspicuous. They're gorgeous. How can they still be alive?'

When I lived in Delhi, I used to visit the Lodhi Gardens and feed the pigeons, crows, and ducks there.

As millions of people know, one of the great pleasures of walking in areas of the uplands managed for grouse is to see and hear large numbers of curlew, lapwing and golden plover - all ground-nesting birds largely absent or in rapidly declining numbers elsewhere.

Late August still feels like summer here in the Ozarks, but it is the time of year the nighthawks are moving on to their South American wintering grounds.

I wrote in the cellar for a number of years. I needed a private space, and it had a furnace, so it was always warm.

Some books inspire one to read, and some inspire one to write; for selfish reasons, I'm always looking for the latter.