In a way Winter is the real Spring - the time when the inner things happen, the resurgence of nature.

All my life I had feared imprisonment, the nun's cell, the hospital bed, the places where one faced the self without distraction, without the crutches of other people.

My hand does the work and I dont have to think; in fact, were I to think, it would stop the flow. Its like a dam in the brain that bursts.

In a way Winter is the real Spring - the time when the inner things happen, the resurgence of nature.

I crossed the room, and what you did was to feel my hair over and over again and in different ways, touch it, with the palm of your hand... felt it, strands of hair, with your fingers, touched it as if it were cloth, the way a child touches its favorite surfaces.

Death in its way comes just as much of a surprise as birth.

The vote means nothing to women. We should be armed.