Art, whose honesty must work through artifice, cannot avoid cheating truth.
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Every journey into the past is complicated by delusions, false memories, false namings of real events.
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How we dwelt in two worlds the daughters and the mothers in the kingdom of the sons.
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I keep coming back to you in my head, but you couldn't know that, and I have no carbons.
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In order to live a fully human life we require not only control of our bodies (though control is a prerequisite); we must touch the unity and resonance of our physicality, our bond with the natural order, the corporeal grounds of our intelligence.
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It's exhilarating to be alive in a time of awakening consciousness; it can also be confusing, disorienting, and painful.
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Lying is done with words and also with silence.
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Only to have a grief equal to all these tears!
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The connections between and among women are the most feared, the most problematic, and the most potentially transforming force on the planet.
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The mind's passion is all for singling out. Obscurity has another tale to tell.
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The moment of change is the only poem.
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The worker can unionize, go out on strike; mothers are divided from each other in homes, tied to their children by compassionate bonds; our wildcat strikes have most often taken the form of physical or mental breakdown.
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They can rule the world while they can persuade us our pain belongs in some order is death by famine worse than death by suicide, than a life of famine and suicide...?
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We who were loved will never unlive that crippling fever.
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