Quotes by Sherman Alexie

“If I wasnt writing poems Id be washing my hands all the time.”

“The dream he needed most was the dream that frightened him more.”

“Ann Beattie is a writer for and of her time. Her prose has become known for its vivid particularity, the details of the way we live.”

“When I first read his work, I almost thought it was some kind of parody by a famous white writer, because he takes so many things from me and other writers.”

He loved her, of course, but better than that, he chose her, day after day. Choice: that was the thing.

What kind of life can you have in a house without books?

I used to think the world was broken down by tribes, I said. By Black and White. By Indian and White. But I know this isnt true. The world is only broken into two tribes: the people who are assholes and the people who are not.

Read. Read 1000 pages for every 1 page that you write.

Its not oil that runs the world, its shame.

The ordinary can be like medicine.

And believe me, a good piece of chicken can make anybody believe in the existence of God.

You must be a rich man, she said. Not much of a warrior, though. You keep letting me sneak up on you.You dont surprise me, he said. The Plains Indians had women who rode their horses eighteen hours a day. They could shoot seven arrows consecutively, have them all in the air at the same time. They were the best light cavalry in the world. Just my luck, she said. An educated Indian.Yeah, he said. Reservation University.They both laughed at the old joke. Every Indian is an alumnus.Where you from? she asked.Wellpinit, he said. Im a Spokane.I shouldve known. You got those fishermans hands.Aint no salmon left in our river. Just a school bus and a few hundred basketballs.What the hell you talking about?Our basketball team drives into the river and drowns every year, he said. Its a tradition.She laughed. Youre just a storyteller, aint you?Im just telling you things before they happen, he said. The same things sons and daughters will tell your mothers and fathers.Do you ever answer a question straight?Depends on the question, he said.Do you want to be my powwow paradise?

When it comes to death, we know that laughter and tears are pretty much the same thing.And so, laughing and crying, we said good-bye to my grandmother. And when we said goodbye to one grandmother, we said good-bye to all of them.Each funeral was a funeral for all of us.We lived and died together.All of us laughed when they lowered my grandmother into the ground.And all of us laughed when they covered her with dirt.And all of us laughed as we walked and drove and rode our way back to our lonely, lonely houses.

When it comes to death, we know that laughter and tears are pretty much the same thing.

Did she say anything before she died? he asked.Yes, the surgeon said. She said, Forgive himForgive him? my father asked.I think she was referring to the drunk driver who killed her.Wow.My grandmothers last act on earth was a call for forgiveness, love and tolerance.She wanted us to forgive Gerald, the dumb-ass Spokane Indian alcoholic who ran her over and killed her.I think My Dad wanted to go find Gerald and beat him to death.I think my mother would have helped him.I think I would have helped him, too.But my grandmother wanted us to forgive her murderer.Even dead, she was a better person than us.

So I heard the boom of my fathers rifle when he shot my best friend. A bullet only costs about two cents, and anybody can afford that.

Poetry = Anger x Imagination

Everyone I have lost in the closing of a doorthe click of the lockis not forgotten, theydo not die but remainwithin the soft edgesof the earth, the ashof house fires and cancerin sin and forgivenesshuddled under old blanketsdreaming their way intomy hands, my heartclosing tight like fists.- Indian Boy Love Song #1

As a child, I read because books–violent and not, blasphemous and not, terrifying and not–were the most loving and trustworthy things in my life. I read widely, and loved plenty of the classics so, yes, I recognized the domestic terrors faced by Louisa May Alcott’s March sisters. But I became the kid chased by werewolves, vampires, and evil clowns in Stephen King’s books. I read books about monsters and monstrous things, often written with monstrous language, because they taught me how to battle the real monsters in my life.And now I write books for teenagers because I vividly remember what it felt like to be a teen facing everyday and epic dangers. I don’t write to protect them. It’s far too late for that. I write to give them weapons–in the form of words and ideas-that will help them fight their monsters. I write in blood because I remember what it felt like to bleed.

If its fiction, then it better be true.