We must recognize and nurture the creative parts of each other without always understanding what will be created.

The fear that we cannot grow beyond whatever distortions we may find within ourselves keeps us docile and loyal and obedient, externally defined, and leads us to accept many facets of our own oppression as women.

Guilt and defensiveness are bricks in a wall against which we all flounder; they serve none of our futures.

Out of my flesh that hungers and my mouth that knows comes the shape I am seeking for reason.

Somedays, if bitterness were a whetstone, I could be sharp as grief.

We have to consciously study how to be tender with each other until it becomes a habit because what was native has been stolen from us, the love of Black women for each other.

Women are powerful and dangerous.