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The politics of the exile are fever, revenge, daydream, theater of the aging convalescent. You wait in the wings and rehearse. You wait and wait.

Marge Piercy

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Marge Piercy
Age: 88
Born: 1936
Born: March 31
Activist
Climate Activist
Feminist
Novelist
Poet
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Detroit
Michigan
War
Fever
Revenge
Aging
Wings
Wait
Daydream
Theater
Rehearse
Politics
Daydreaming
Waiting
Exile

More quotes by Marge Piercy

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The anger of the weak never goes away, Professor, it just gets a little moldy. It molds like a beautiful blue cheese in the dark, growing stronger, and more interesting. The poor and the weak die with all their anger intact and probably those angers go on growing in the dark of the grave like the hair and the nails.
Marge Piercy
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Too much self-regard has never struck me as dignified: trying to twist over my shoulder to view my own behind.
Marge Piercy
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A strong woman is a woman at work, cleaning out the cesspool of the ages, and while she shovels, she talks about how she doesn't mind crying, it opens the ducts of the eyes, and throwing up develops the stomach muscles, and she goes on shoveling with tears in her nose.
Marge Piercy
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I don't find that writing about parts of my life had much effect except in some cases to improve my memory. To get into parts of the past I want to recall very vividly, I use a form of directed meditation.
Marge Piercy
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Obviously I find women more interesting than men to write about.
Marge Piercy
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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.
Marge Piercy
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Life is the first gift, love is the second, and understanding the third.
Marge Piercy
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The incidence of violent brand-loyalty to one's own current dogma has risen.
Marge Piercy
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Nobody can live on a bridge or plant potatoes but it is fine for comings and goings, meetings, partings and long views and a real connection to someplace else where you may in the crazy weathers of struggle how and again want to be.
Marge Piercy
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We must shine with hope, stained glass windows that shape light into icons, glow like lanterns borne before a procession. Who can bear hope back into the world but us.
Marge Piercy
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The price of seeing is silence.
Marge Piercy
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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 but sensually, emotionally, intimately, the wider the pool from which you draw.
Marge Piercy
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Shall I tell you something I've been noticing? The mistrust this society has for women. All kinds of experts and officials are terrified because so many women are working. They really think that women have to be coerced into having babies and raising kids.
Marge Piercy
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I wasn't afraid of being poor I rather took it for granted. I was good at getting by with very little. I couldn't imagine sacrificing my writing to anything else.
Marge Piercy
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The people I love the best, jump into work head first without dallying in the shallows.
Marge Piercy
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We admire predators - panthers, lions, tigers, even wolves. Maybe to be naturally thoughtful and hesitant to use violence is to be somehow second rate. To be in the middle of the social food chain. Especially if you're a man. This society thinks real men are violent.
Marge Piercy
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Suppose that a person writes what she must. That is only the first step of becoming a writer. The work must survive the moment of creation. It must get out to an audience. She or he must dare to show the work. She must risk ridicule, misunderstanding, scandal, condemnation, & what's often worse, none of the above: silence. No attention at all.
Marge Piercy
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Your anger was a climate I inhabited like a desert in a dry frigid weather of high thin air and ivory sun, sand dunes the wind lifted into stinging clouds that blinded and choked me where the only ice was in the blood.
Marge Piercy
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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?
Marge Piercy
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I am my mother's daughter,... I am her only novel.
Marge Piercy