Grace Paley (December 11, 1922 – August 22, 2007) was an American short story author, poet, teacher, and political activist.
The word career is a divisive word. It's a word that divides the normal life from business or professional life.
Sometimes before people know what they're saying, they already love the language.
A lot of sad things have happened to my friends' children, people you knew as babies. They've been killed or become crazy or all kinds of tragic things. There are some people whose children haven't talked to them in fifteen years. There's all kind of meshugaas in this world.
I don't have any degrees. I went to Hunter College one year and New York University another year. It's just on the basis of my books that I've been hired at any of the places I've been.
This hill crossed with broken pines and maples lumpy with the burial mounds of uprooted hemlocks (hurricane of '38) out of their rotting hearts generations rise trying once more to become the forest just beyond them tall enough to be called trees in their youth like aspen a bouquet of young beech is gathered they still wear last summer's leaves the lightest brown almost translucent how their stubbornness has decorated the winter woods.
I loved the comradeship of the sixties and the seventies, and I still maintain friendships with the people I worked with then - the ones that are still alive. That's one of the great gifts of our political movements, great friendships. . . and also a few enmities.
People will sometimes say, "Why don't you write more politics?" And I have to explain to them that writing the lives of women IS politics.
My family were Russian Jews. They got you to read as soon as you could. And then assumed you would read a lot. People didn't really tell stories but they were good talkers. That's important for a writer, to hear speakers.
We write about what we don't know about what we know.
No metaphor reinvents the job of the nurture of children except to muddy or mock.
Well, by now you must know yourself, honey, whatever you do, life don't stop. It only sits a minute and dreams a dream.
People say, "Why do you call your kids up, why do you worry like that?" And I say, "I was raised like that. " My grandmother looked at my father with the same eyes when he was sixty and she was eighty-five.
If I miss anything, it's being able to hang out in the city of New York meeting people and talking to them on the corner.
That heartbreaking moment when you finish an amazing book, and you are forced to return to reality.
It wasn't until I lived in the countryside that I began to understand the life of the countryside and the people in it and trees and water. Just learning about water is an education for a city person.
If you want to do things, do things.
I often see through things right to the apparition itself.
Write from what you know into what you don't know.
I do lots of reading and speaking at many universities about literature and also about politics, which is as much a part of my life as the literature.
The wrong word is like a lie jammed inside the story.