Alice Walker Quotes

Alice Walker Quotes

No person is your friend who demands your silence, or denies your right to grow.. Alice
No person is your friend who demands your silence, or denies your right to grow.

Deliver me from writers who say the way they live doesn't matter. I'm not sure a
Deliver me from writers who say the way they live doesn't matter. I'm not sure a bad person can write a good book. If art doesn't make us better, then what on earth is it for.

Writing saved me from the sin and inconvenience of violence.

I've found, in my own writing, that a little hatred, keenly directed, is a useful thing.

If you're silent for a long time, people just arrive in your mind.

Everything want to be loved. Us sing and dance and holler, just trying to be loved.

Life is better than death, I believe, if only because it is less boring, and because it has fresh peaches in it.

The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don't have any.

I think us here to wonder, myself. To wonder. To ask. And that in wondering bout the big things and asking bout the big things, you learn about the little ones, almost by accident. But you never know nothing more about the big things than you start out with. The more I wonder, the more I love.

What she showed me was, Yes, I am Grandmother as she is; there is no separation, really, between us. And that, on this planet, Grandmother Earth, there is no higher authority. That our inseparability is why the planet will be steered to safety by Grandmother/Grandmothers or it will not be steered to safety at all.

I am so happy. I got love, I got work, I got money, friends and time.

And I don't believe you dead. How can you be dead if I still feel you? Maybe, like God, you changed into something different that I'll have to speak to in a different way, but you not dead to me Nettie. And never will you be.

I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it.

But it ain't easy, trying to do without God even if you know he ain't there, trying to do without him is a strain

Because
you rubbed
my shoulder
last night
a poem
traveled down
my arm.

But I don't know how to fight. All I know how to do is stay alive.

Sofia the kind of woman no matter what she have in her hand she make it look like a weapon.

Time moves slowly, but passes quickly.

When I was a child I read books for entertainment and information; I now think of books as lifeboats.

Horses make a landscape look beautiful.

First time I got the full sight of Shug Avery long black body with it black plum nipples, look like her mouth, I thought I had turned into a man

She got a long pointed nose and big fleshy mouth. Lips look like black plum. Eyes big, glossy. Feverish. And mean. Like, sick as she is, if a snake cross her path, she kill it

Shug say, What, too shamefaced to put singing and dancing and fucking together? She laugh. That’s the reason they call what us sing the devil’s music. Devils love to fuck.

A writer's heart, a poet's heart, an artist's heart, a musician's heart is always breaking. It is through that broken window that we see the world...

Men make war to get attention. All killing is an expression of self-hate.

They be marching hand in hand, like going to war.

World wars have been fought and lost; for every war is against the world and every war against the world is lost.

The life of my people is to remember forever; each head granary is full. The life of your people is to forget: your thing granaries ("museums"), and not yourselves, are full.

You think you can avoid [pain,] but you actually can't. If you do, you just get sicker, or you feel more pain. But if you can speak it, if you can write it, if you can paint it, it is very healing.

Peace": the fruit of justice done especially to the Self.

The heaving sickness past, her nausea gone, her bodily fluids replaced, she felt the lightness of being in the open space around her. Her walls the canyon's walls, she owned them not at all; her floor, the river beach. Her view, the heavens. It was, this freedom she was in, the longed-for cathedral of her dreams.

What that song? I ast. Sound low down dirty to me. Like what the preacher tells you its sin to hear. Not to mention sing.
She hum a little more. Something come to me, she say. Something I made up. Something you help scratch out my head.

When we
have changed
everything
we will eat
congratulations
with
our tea.

He say, Celie, tell me the truth. You don't like me cause I'm a man?
I blow my nose. take off they pants, I say, and men look like frogs to me. No matter how you kiss 'em, as far as I'm concern, frogs is what they stay.

It all I can do not to cry. I make myself wood I say to myself, Celie, you a tree. That's how I come to know trees fear man.

But what was good tween us must have been nothing but bodies, she say. Cause I don't know the Albert that don't dance, can't hardly laugh, never talk bout nothing, beat you and hid your sister Nettie's letters. Who he?

The animals of the world exist for their own reasons. They were not made for humans any more than black people were made for white, or women created for men.

There is a way that the men speak to women that reminds me too much of Pa. They listen just long enough to issue instructions. They don’t even look at women when women are speaking. They look at the ground and bend their heads toward the ground.

And so our mothers and grandmothers have, more often than not anonymously, handed on the creative spark, the seed of the flower they themselves never hoped to see - or like a sealed letter they could not plainly read.

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