It's so acceptably easy for a woman not to strive too hard, not to be too adventure-crazed, not to take too many risks, not to enjoy sex with full candor ... It isn't seemly for a woman to have that much zest.

The heart is a museum, filled with the exhibits of a lifetime's loves.

Hurricane season brings a humbling reminder that, despite our technologies, most of nature remains unpredictable.

We live on the leash of our senses.

Love is like a batik created from many emotional colors, it is a fabric whose pattern and brightness may vary.

Writing is my form of celebration and prayer.

A flower's fragrance declares to all the world that it is fertile, available, and desirable, its sex organs oozing with nectar. Its smell reminds us in vestigial ways of fertility, vigor, life-force, all the optimism, expectancy, and passionate bloom of youth. We inhale its ardent aroma and, no matter what our ages, we feel young and nubile in a world aflame with desire.