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Rick Bragg Biography

Rick Bragg (born July 26, 1959) is an American journalist and writer known for non-fiction books, especially those about his family in Alabama. He won a Pulitzer Prize in 1996 recognizing his work at The New York Times.

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Rick Bragg Quotes

Passion is something you really don't miss, after it has cooled. It is like looking at an empty bottle on the side of the road and thinking, "Boy, I wish I had a Coke. " The loves you miss are the ones that go away when they are still warm, even hot, to the touch.

Bottle, Boys, Like, Love You, Passion, Warm

Momma kept a garden, which sounds romantic to people who have never held a hoe

Garden, Hoe, Kept, People

The best writers who have put pen to paper have often had a journalism background.

Background, Backgrounds, Journalism, Paper

It is a common condition of being poor. . . you are always afraid that the good things in your life are temporary, that someone can take them away, because you have no power beyond your own brute strength to stop them.

Away, Common, Life, Poor, Success

This is home and home is not something you remember, it is something you see every day and every moment.

Day, Home, Moments, Remember

It wasn't that I had gotten it right. . . but that I had gotten true.

Gotten, Right, True

When you're a sportswriter, you learn how to use your imagination and to flex your literary muscle, because it's the same game played over and over again. There's nothing unique or marvelous. It's not an earthquake, or a weird mass murder. It's just the same old game played over and over, and you have to bring out the personalities. You have to drag them kicking and screaming out into the light of day, or you're not a good sportswriter.

Bring, Games, Good, Light, Muscle, Unique

It was a good moment, the kind you would like to press between the pages of a book, or hide in your sock drawer, so you could touch it again.

Book, Kind, Like, Pages, Sock

I don't think there's a difference between writing for a newspaper or magazine and doing a chapter in a book.

Book, Chapter, Difference, Thinking, Writing

This is a place where grandmothers hold babies on their laps under the stars and whisper in their ears that the lights in the sky are holes in the floor of heaven.

Babies, Baby, Floor, Grandma, Grandmothers, Stars

I believe that if we are going to write about life and death, we should not do it from the cheap seats.

Believe, Cheap, Death, Life And Death, Writing

Most national correspondents will tell you they rely on stringers and researchers and interns and clerks and news assistants.

Assistants, Clerks, News, Tell

The only thing poverty does is grind down your nerve endings to a point that you can work harder and stoop lower than most people are willing to. It chips away a person's dreams to the point that the hopelessness shows through, and the dreamer accepts that hard work and borrowed houses are all this life will ever be.

Away, Dream, Hard Work, Hopelessness, People, Poverty

Every life deserves a certain amount of dignity, no matter how poor or damaged the shell that carries it.

Certain, Inspirational, Life, Matter, Poor, Shells

And Sandy Martindale. . . dated Elvis before the rhinestone jumpsuits and the drugs, when he was sharp and cool and jagged, like porcelain that has been hurled against a wall.

Drug, Porcelain, Sandy, Wall

These were people. . . who built redwood decks on their mobile homes and have no idea that smart-aleck Yankees think that is somehow funny. People of the pines. My people.

Built, Funny, Home, Idea, Smart, Thinking

I began reading Harper Lee's novel in the skimpy shade of a pine outside my grandmother's house, fat beagles pressing against me, begging for attention, ignored. At dark, I kept reading, first on the couch, a bologna sandwich in one hand, then in my bed, by the light of a 60-watt bulb hanging from the ceiling on an orange drop cord. When my mother came in from her job as a maid and unplugged my chandelier, I replayed the story in my head until it was crowded out by dreams. I woke the next morning, smelling biscuits, and reached for the book again.

Bologna, Dream, Head, Morning, Mother

I have dictated stories from an airport after writing the story out in longhand on the plane that I got from phone interviews and then was applauded by editors for 'working magic.

Airports, Longhand, Phones, Plane, Working, Writing

I made some friends for life, the way I usually make them. Any jackass can be pleasant company, but if people help you when you're at your worst, that's a friend.

Helping, Make, People, Pleasant, Way, Worst

Rick Bragg Biography

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