A strong woman is a woman at work, cleaning out the cesspool of the ages, and while she shovels, she talks about how she doesn't mind crying, it opens the ducts of the eyes, and throwing up develops the stomach muscles, and she goes on shoveling with tears in her nose.

Learning to love differently is hard, love with the hands wide open, love with the doors banging on their hinges, the cupboard unlocked, the windroaring and whimpering in the rooms.

Shared laughter is erotic too.

If sex is a war, I am a conscientious objector: I will not play.

Remember that every son had a mother whose beloved son he was, and every woman had a mother whose beloved son she wasn't.

The work of the world is common as mud.

History is a game played backwards only.