Hatred is a death wish for the hated, not a life wish for anything else.

What is there possibly left for us to be afraid of, after we have dealt face to face with death and not embraced it? Once I accept the existence of dying as a life process, who can ever have power over me again?

I would like to do another piece of fiction dealing with a number of issues: Lesbian parenting, the 1960's, and interracial relationships in the Lesbian and Gay community.

Each time you love, love as deeply as if it were forever.

Hatred is a death wish for the hated, not a life wish for anything else.

I find I am constantly being encouraged to pluck out some one aspect of myself and present this as the meaningful whole, eclipsing or denying the other parts of self.

For women, then, poetry is not a luxury. It is a vital necessity of our existence.