And I was afraid. She frightens me because she can knock me down with a word. Because she does not know that writing is walking on a dizzying silence setting one word after the other on emptiness. Writing is miraculous and terrifying like the flight of a bird who has no wings but flings itself out and only gets wings by flying.

Censor the body and you censor breath and speech at the same time. Write yourself. Your body must be heard.

There is no greater love than the love the wolf feels for the lamb-it-doesn’t-eat.

Me too, I make do, I anoint what cannot be fixed.

Writing is the passageway, the entrance, the exit, the dwelling place of the other in me.

Explore the idea of what the language that women speak would really be like if no one were there to correct them.

Other-Love is writing's first name.