Sometimes when a character in a novel is difficult for me to enter, I sue something in myself or in my own… — Marge Piercy Copy Share Image
We're herded into schools and terrified into behaving. Taught how we're supposed to pretend to be, taught to parrot all kinds of nonsense at the flick of a switch, taught to keep our heads down and our elbows in and shut off our minds and shut off our sex. We learn we can't even piss when we have to. That's… — Marge Piercy Copy Share
The mind wraps itself around a poem. It is almost sensual, particularly if you work on a computer. You can turn the… — Marge Piercy Copy Share Image
The best gift you can give is a hug: one size fits all and no one ever minds if you return it. — Marge Piercy Copy Share Image
Nobody hates us as ourselves. In their minds we're not human... They don't hate us because we did something or said something.… — Marge Piercy Copy Share Image
“All day you have been on my mind, a steam iron pressing the convolutions from my cortex, ironing me flat. Worrying cooks… — Marge Piercy Copy Share Image
The anger of the weak never goes away, Professor, it just gets a little moldy. It molds like a beautiful blue cheese in the… — Marge Piercy Copy Share Image
“The people I love the best jump into work head first without dallying in the shallows and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight. They seem to become natives of that element, the black sleek heads of seals bouncing like half submerged balls. I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart, who pull like… — Marge Piercy Copy Share
Every poet has a certain amount of "stuff." That's what you draw from for imagery. The more stuff you know well, not simply intellectually… — Marge Piercy Copy Share Image
the body is simple as a turtle / and straight as a dog: / the body cannot lie. — Marge Piercy Copy Share Image
We must shine with hope, stained glass windows that shape light into icons, glow like lanterns borne before a procession. Who can bear hope… — Marge Piercy Copy Share Image
Remember that every son had a mother whose beloved son he was, and every woman had a mother whose beloved son she wasn't. — Marge Piercy Copy Share Image
We live in a media soup and are constantly being programmed or are fighting that programming. Thus any truthful account of a life, every… — Marge Piercy Copy Share Image
The moon is always female and so am I although often in the vale of razorblades I have wished I could put on and… — Marge Piercy Copy Share Image
Sometimes when a character in a novel is difficult for me to enter, I sue something in myself or in my own life as… — Marge Piercy Copy Share Image
Doorways are sacred to women for we are the doorways of life and we must choose what comes in and what goes out. — Marge Piercy Copy Share Image
