In a magazine, one can get - from cover to cover - 15 to 20 different ideas about life and how to live it.

I'm a feminist. I've been a female for a long time now. It'd be stupid not to be on my own side.

Today, the first & last of every Tree/ Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the River.

Though we are many, each of us is achingly alone, piercingly alone. Only when we confess our confusion can we remember that he was a gift to us and we did have him. He came to us from the creator, trailing creativity in abundance. Despite the anguish, his life was sheathed in mother love, family love, and survived and did more than that. He thrived with passion and compassion, humor and style. We had him whether we know who he was or did not know, he was ours and we were his.

The sadness of the women's movement is that they don't allow the necessity of love. See, I don't personally trust any revolution where love is not allowed.

The hope, the hope that lives in the breast of the black American, is just so tremendous that it overwhelms me sometimes.

I refuse to allow any man-made differences to separate me from any other human beings.