Louise Erdrich
I got well by talking. Death could not get a word in edgewise, grew discouraged, and traveled on.Collection: Death
Revenge is a sorrow for the person who has to take it on. And the person who is rash enough to think it's going to help a situation is always wrong.
I was in love with the whole world and all that lived in its rainy arms.
My mother is Turtle Mountain Chippewa, and she lived on her home reservation. My father taught there. He had just been discharged from the Air Force. He went to school on the GI Bill and got his teaching credentials. He is adventurous - he worked his way through Alaska at age seventeen and paid for his living expenses by winning at the poker table.
Here I am, where I ought to be. A writer must have a place where he or she feels this, a place to love and be irritated with.
I grew up in North Dakota around Dakota and Ojibwe people, and also small-town people in Wahpeton. Writers make few choices, really, about their material. We have to write about what comes naturally and what interests us - so I do.
I'd love to meet my ancestors. I'd love to be able to speak to them.
Nothing I force myself to write about ever turns out well, and so I've learned to wait for the voice, the incident, the image that reverberates.
When I moved to Minnesota, I found there was a thriving and determined movement, a grassroots movement, to revitalize the Ojibwe language. And I've never come to be a competent speaker. I have to say that right now. But even learning the amount of Ojibwe that one can at my age is a life-altering experience.
Love won't be tampered with, love won't go away. Push it to one side and it creeps to the other.
Talking about how I might write the next book is like talking about whether or not to have sex. Any dithering ruins it.
It was enough just to sit there without words.
Columbus only discovered that he was in some new place. He didn't discover America.
You know, some people fall right through the hole in their lives. It's invisible, but they come to it after time, never knowing where.
I have never fully exorcised shames that struck me to the heart as a child except through written violence, shadowy caricature, and dark jokes.
My father is my biggest literary influence. Recently, I've been looking through his letters. He was in the National Guard when I was a child, and whenever he left, he would write to me. He wrote letters to me all through college, and we still correspond. His letters, and my mother's, are one of my life's treasures.
My grandfather was a persuasive man who made friends with people at every level of influence. In order to fight against our tribe's termination, he went to newspapers and politicians and urged them to advocate for our tribe in Washington. He also supported his family through the Depression as a truck farmer.
On any state elections map, the reservations are blue places. Native people are most often progressives, Democrats, and by no means gun-toting vigilantes.
My parents' marriage is a gift to everyone around them - 60 years of making their kids laugh. How many parents are actually funny?
Most writers have been influenced by Faulkner.
There are several kinds of land on reservations. And all of these pieces of land have different entities who are in charge of enforcing laws on this land.
I grew up in Wahpeton, N.D., and I didn't leave until I was 18, and I've kept going back.
What I see in the book is an exquisite form of technology: one that doesn't require a power source and can be passed from hand to hand and lasts a lot longer than an electronic reader.
I rarely step on sidewalk cracks. I don't wear a watch. I touch my favorite tree before going on long trips.
I write first drafts by hand. Never do I open an umbrella inside the house. I don't predict wins or losses. I used to stand on a certain piece of rug if my brothers and husband were watching football and their team got in trouble - but now the luck went out of that rug. If a circle is involved, I try to go clockwise.
Nothing I write ever has a moral. If it seems to a reader that there is one, that is unintentional.
I live on the margin of just about everything. I'm a marginal person, and I think that is where I've become comfortable. I'm marginally there in my native life. I can do as much as I can, but I'm always German, too, you know, and I'm always a mother. That's my first identity, but I'm always a writer, too.
I have to write. I have to be an artist.
Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart.Collection: Love
When we are young, the words are scattered all around us. As they are assembled by experience, so also are we, sentence by sentence, until the story takes shape.Collection: Stories
What happens when you let an unsatisfactory present go on long enough? It becomes your entire history.Collection: Life
When women age into their power, no wind can upset them, no hand turn aside their knowledge, no fact can deflect their point of view.Collection: Women
To sew is to pray. Men don't understand this. They see the whole but they don't see the stitches. They don't see the speech of the creator in the work of the needle. We mend. We women turn things inside out and set things right. We salvage what we can of human garments and piece the rest into blankets. Sometimes our stitches stutter and slow. Only a woman's eyes can tell. Other times, the tension in the stitches might be too tight because of tears, but only we know what emotion went into the making. Only women can hear the prayer.Collection: Prayer
We do know that no one gets wise enough to really understand the heart of another, though it is the task of our life to try.Collection: Wise
Our songs travel the earth. We sing to one another. Not a single note is ever lost and no song is original. They all come from the same place and go back to a time when only the stones howled.Collection: Song
Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that. And living alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on Earth.Collection: Love
Things which do not grow and change are dead things.Collection: Change
You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart.Collection: Strength
People forget the good, because the bad has more punch.Collection: People
What men call adventures usually consist of the stoical endurance of appalling daily misery.Collection: Adventure
In our own beginnings, we are formed out of the body's interior landscape. For a short while, our mothers' bodies are the boundaries and personal geography which are all that we know of the world...Once we no longer live beneath our mother's heart, it is the earth with which we form the same dependent relationship, relying...on its cycles and elements, helpless without its protective embrace.Collection: Mother
Every so often something shatters like ice and we are in the river of our existence. We are aware.Collection: Ice
Of course, English is a very powerful language, a colonizer's language and a gift to a writer. English has destroyed and sucked up the languages of other cultures - its cruelty is its vitality.Collection: Powerful
some people meet the way the sky meets the earth, inevitably, and there is no stopping or holding back their love. It exists in a finished world, beyond the reach of common sense.Collection: Romantic
Be lovely and do no harm.Collection: Lovely
To love another another human in all of her splendor and imperfect perfection , it is a magnificent task...tremendous and foolish and human.Collection: Perfection
I prefer to have some beliefs that don't make logical sense.Collection: Belief
By writing I can live in ways that I could not survive.Collection: Writing
Love won't be tampered with, love won't go away. Push it to one side and it creeps to the other. Throw it in the garbage and it springs up clean. Try to root it out and it only flourishes. Love is a weed, a dandelion that you poison from your heart. The taproots wait. The seeds blow off, ticklish, into a part of the yard you didn't spray. And one day, though you worked, though you prodded out each spiky leaf, you lift your eyes and dozens of fat golden faces bob in the grass.Collection: Love
I think one of the reasons to be here on earth is to finally be who we are, at all times - to know and be predictable to ourselves.Collection: Thinking