Writing Is A Fine Thing, Because It

For Women, History Does Not Exist. Murasaki, Sappho, And Madame Lafayette Might Be Their Own Contemporaries.

Now That I've Seen What War Is, What Civil War Is, I Know That Everybody, If One Day It Should End, Ought To Ask Himself: "and What Shall We Make Of The Fallen? Why Are They Dead?" I Wouldn't Know What To Say. Not Now, At Any Rate. Nor Does It Seem To Me That The Others Know. Perhaps Only Dead Know, And Only For Them Is The War Really Over.

The Slowness Of Time, For A Man Who Knows Nothing Will Happen, Is Brutal.

You Wait For Nothing If Not For The Word That Will Burst From The Deep Like A Fruit Among Branches.

When A Woman Marries She Belongs To Another Man; And When She Belongs To Another Man There Is Nothing More You Can Say To Her.