Top Marge Piercy Quotes - Quotesmemo.com

Marge Piercy Biography

Marge Piercy (born March 31, 1936) is an American poet, novelist, and social activist. Her work includes Woman on the Edge of Time; He, She and It, which won the 1993 Arthur C. Clarke Award; and Gone to Soldiers, a New York Times Best Seller and sweeping historical novel set during World War II.

Read about Marge Piercy in Wikipedia

Random Authors

Marge Piercy Quotes

The real writer is one who really writes.

Real, Writer, Writes, Writing

The price of seeing is silence.

Price, Seeing, Silence

I never thought of myself as explaining cats in general. I simply viewed the cats I have known as characters in my life, often as quirky and complex as the humans with whom I have spent time.

Cat, Character, Characters, Explaining, Humans, Quirky

I don't apologize for being sexually adventurous. Why not? It was often fun. When it wasn't - I didn't continue what wasn't pleasant.

Apologize, Apologizing, Fun, Sexually, Why Not

Writing is a futile attempt to preserve what disappears moment by moment. All that remains of my mother is what I remember and what I have written for and about her. Eventually that is all that will remain of [my husband] and me. Writing sometimes feels frivolous and sometimes sacred, but memory is one of my strongest muses. I serve her with my words. So long as people read, those we love survive however evanescently. As do we writers, saying with our life's work, Remember. Remember us. Remember me.

Feels, Futile, Husband, Memories, Mother, Saying

Shared laughter is erotic too.

Erotic, Happiness, Joy, Laughter, Shared

I am my mother's daughter,. . . I am her only novel.

Daughter, Mother, Novel

The moon is always female and so am I although often in the vale of razorblades I have wished I could put on and take off my sex like a dress and why not?

Dresses, Moon, Sex, Vale, Wished

Nobody hates us as ourselves. In their minds we're not human. . . They don't hate us because we did something or said something. They make us stand for an evil they invent and then they want to kill it in us.

Evil, Hate, Human, Make, Mind

In her bottled up is a woman peppery as curry, a yam of a woman of butter and brass.

Bottled, Brass, Butter, Curry, Woman, Yams

A new idea is rarely born like Venus attended by graces. More commonly it's modeled of baling wire and acne. More commonly it wheezes and tips over.

Commonly, Grace, Ideas, Like, Perfection, Wheezes

I mourn in grey, grey as the sleeted wind the bled shades of twilight, gunmetal, battleships, industrial paint.

Battleships, Bled, Grief, Twilight, Wind

Writing is a futile attempt to preserve what disappears moment by moment.

Attempt, Disappear, Disappears, Moments, Writing

I am a driven writer. I feel guilty if I don't write, not self-indulgent if I do.

Guilty, Self, Write, Writer, Writing

Praise our choices, sister, for each doorway open to us was taken by squads of fighting women who paid years of trouble and struggle, who paid their wombs, their sleep, their lives that we might walk through these gates upright. Doorways are sacred to women for we are the doorways of life and we must choose what comes in and what goes out. Freedom is our real abundance.

Fighting, Gates, Real, Struggle, Taken, Wombs

We lie in each other's arms eyes shut and fingers open and all the colors of the world pass through our bodies like strings of fire.

Bodies, Eye, Like, Lying, Open, Sexy

When she kissed him, he melted like a lump of milk chocolate.

Best Love, Chocolate, Like, Melted, Milk

One trouble: to be a professional anything in the United States is to think of oneself as an expert and one's ideas as semisacred, and to treat others in a certain way - professionally.

Certain, Ideas, Thinking, Treat, United, United States

The work of the world is common as mud.

Common, Mud, Work, World

History is a game played backwards only.

Backwards, Game, Games, History, Played

1