A woman who writes feels too much.
The sea is mother-death and she is a mighty female, the one who wins, the one who sucks us all up.
I am so imperfect, can you love me when really my soul is deformed? Will you love me anyhow?
All day I've built a lifetime and now the sun sinks to undo it.
As a writer one has to take the chance on being a fool.
Women tell time by the body. They are like clocks. They are always fastened to the earth, listening for its small animal noises.