memory is a storm I can't repel.

Women receive he insults of men with tolerance, having been bitten in the nipple by their toothless gums.

I put down my book, The Meaning of Zen, and see the cat smiling into her fur as she delicately combs it with her rough pink tongue. 'Cat, I would lend you this book to study but it appears you have already read it.' She looks up and gives me her full gaze. 'Don't be ridiculous,' she purrs, 'I wrote it.'

To be a woman and a writer is double mischief, for the world will slight her who slights "the servile house," and who would rather make odes than beds.

memory is a storm I can't repel.