The history of an oppressed people is hidden in the lies and the agreed myth of its conquerors.
Each generation must go further than the last or what's the use in it?
It was the bumble bee and the butterfly who survived, not the dinosaur.
Literature must spring from the deep and submerged humus of our life.
These are the stories that never, never die, that are carried like seed into a new country, are told to you and me and make in us new and lasting strengths.
Suddenly many movements are going on within me, many things are happening, there is an almost unbearable sense of sprouting, of bursting encasements, of moving kernels, expanding flesh.