It is quite possible for a work of literature to operate as a war machine upon its epoch.

It is quite possible for a work of literature to operate as a war machine upon its epoch.

Language casts sheaves of reality upon the social body, stamping it and violently shaping it.

... I am with fire between my teeth and still nothing but my blank page.

There was a time when you were not a slave, remember that. You walked alone, full of laughter, you bathed bare-bellied. You say you have lost all recollection of it, remember . . . You say there are no words to describe this time, you say it does not exist. But remember. Make an effort to remember. Or, failing that, invent.

The dictionary is, however, only a rough draft.

there is no 'feminine writing' ... and one makes a mistake is using and giving currency to this expression.