I grow old, I grow old, the center will not fold. In youth I had hardening of the categories and looked for the father and the mother in every lover. Then I cracked. Then I fragmented. Then the old man in my soul found the god in herself, not in some Jungian fairy tale but in the flesh that fell from the bones and the words that came into my mouth when the look went out of their eyes.

ladies are just those of us who have been silenced.

As art reveals the artist more than the world, so you see yourself and what you are not in the mirror of another culture.

Secrets of the heart are seldom news.

Most of us do not use speech to express thought. We use it to express feelings.

Hope is a dream deferred.

As the medieval mind blamed God for human suffering, so the modern mind blames 'the system' for the industrial blight and plague of technology.