There Is Always A Time To Make

The Hope You Feel When You Are In Love Is Not Necessarily For Anything In Particular. Love Brings Something Inside You To Life. Perhaps It Is Just The Full Dimensionality Of Your Own Capacity To Feel That Returns. In This State You Think No Impediment Can Be Large Enough To Interrupt Your Passion. The Feeling Spills Beyond The Object Of Your Love To Color The Whole World. The Mood Is Not Unlike The Mood Of Revolutionaries In The First Blush Of Victory, At The Dawn Of Hope. Anything Seems Possible. And In The Event Of Failure, It Will Be This Taste Of Possibility That Makes Disillusion Bitter.

Just As The Slave Master Required The Slaves To Imitate The Image He Had Of Them, So Women, Who Live In A Relatively Powerless Position, Politically And Economically, Feel Obliged By A Kind Of Implicit Force To Live Up To Culture's Image Of What Is Female.

I Think Artists Can Go To A Level Of Vision That Can Often Save Us From A Situation Which Seems To Have No Solution Whatsoever.

In One Sense I Feel That My Book Is A One-woman Argument Against Determinism.

To Make Love Is To Become Like This Infant Again. We Grope With Our Mouths Toward The Body Of Another Being, Whom We Trust, Who Takes Us In Her Arms. We Rock Together With This Loved One. We Move Beyond Speech. Our Bodies Move Past All The Controls We Have Learned. We Cry Out In Ecstasy, In Feeling. We Are Back In A Natural World Before Culture Tried To Erase Our Experience Of Nature. In This World, To Touch Another Is To Express Love; There Is No Idea Apart From Feeling, And No Feeling Which Does Not Ring Through Our Bodies And Our Souls At Once.