Love won't be tampered with, love won't go away. Push it to one side and it creeps to the other.

They were so strong in their beliefs that there came a time when it hardly mattered what exactly those beliefs were; they all fused into a single stubbornness.

We have these earthly bodies. We don't know what they want. Half the time, we pretend they are under our mental thumb, but that is the illusion of the healthy and the protected. Of sedate lovers. For the body has emotions it conceives and carries through without concern for anyone or anything else. Love is one of those, I guess. Going back to something very old knit into the brain as we were growing. Hopeless. Scorching. Ordinary.

A woman's body is the gate to this life. A man's body is the gate to the next life.

The greatest wisdom doesn't know itself. The richest plan is not to have one.

Love. The black hook. The spear singing through the mind.

There is a legacy of violence against native women that has gotten worse and worse over time.