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Marge Piercy

Marge Piercy Quotes

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Famous Marge Piercy Quotes

“Now that I am in my forties, she [my mother] tells me I'm beautiful; now that I am in my forties, she sends me presents and we have the long, personal and even remarkably honest phone calls I always wanted so intensely I forbade myself to imagine them. How strange. Perhaps Shaw was correct and if we lived to be several hundred years old, we would finally work it all out. I am deeply grateful. With my poems, I finally won even my mother. The longest wooing of my life.”

IfsYearsLongWantedBeautifulMotherImagineHonestStrangeHundredGratefulPhonesFortyWorking ItPhone CallsWooing
Book:Braided Lives: A Novel
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“One of the best gifts you can give a poet is to present them with field guides - to rocks, to stars, to birds, to wildflowers, to trees and bushes, to butterflies, to reptiles and amphibians. Because when you look at anything long enough to be able to identify it, you see far more clearly and you make a tiny beginning at understanding the life, the place, the history of that bird or rock or mammal.”

GivingLooksLongEnoughAbleStarsUnderstandingTreeRocksFieldsPoetBirdGuidesTinyButterflyMammalsBest GiftWildflowersReptilesAmphibians
Author:Marge Piercy
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“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.”

PeopleFeelsWritingLongSometimesMomentsRememberMotherMemoriesOur LivesWrittenHusbandRemainsSacredDisappearPreservesMy HusbandStrongestMuseFrivolousRemember MeThose We LoveAll That Remains
Author:Marge Piercy
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“I stayed under the moon too long.I am silvered with lust.Dreams flick like minnows through my eyes.My voice is trees tossing in the wind.I loose myself like a flock of blackbirdsstorming into your face.My lightest touch leaves blue prints,bruises on your mind.Desire sandpapers your skinso thin I read the veins and arteriesmaps of routes I will traveltill I lodge in your spine.The night is our fur.We curl inside it licking.”

MindLongDreamEyeFacesDesireNightVoiceTreeWindMoonBirdBlueLustPrintYour FaceRoutesVeinsSpineFurFlocksCurlsBruisesLodgesLickingThrough My EyesSandpaperMinnows
Book:What Are Big Girls Made Of?: Poems
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