Out Of My Flesh That Hungers And

Of All The Art Forms, Poetry Is The Most Economical. It Is The One Which Is The Most Secret, Which Requires The Least Physical Labor, The Least Material, And The One Which Can Be Done Between Shifts, In The Hospital Pantry, On The Subway, And On Scraps Of Surplus Paper. ... Poetry Has Been The Major Voice Of Poor, Working Class, And Colored Women. A Room Of One's Own May Be A Necessity For Writing Prose, But So Are Reams Of Paper, A Typewriter, And Plenty Of Time.

Guilt Is Not A Response To Anger; It Is A Response To One’s Own Actions Or Lack Of Action. If It Leads To Change Then It Can Be Useful, Since It Is Then No Longer Guilt But The Beginning Of Knowledge. Yet All Too Often, Guilt Is Just Another Name For Impotence, For Defensiveness Destructive Of Communication; It Becomes A Device To Protect Ignorance And The Continuation Of Things The Way They Are, The Ultimate Protection For Changelessness.

I Am Still Learning - How To Take Joy In All The People I Am, How To Use All My Selves In The Service Of What I Believe, How To Accept When I Fail And Rejoice When I Succeed.

The Oppression Of Women Knows No Ethnic Nor Racial Boundaries, True, But That Does Not Mean It Is Identical Within Those Boundaries.

I Find I Am Constantly Being Encouraged To Pluck Out Some One Aspect Of Myself And Present This As The Meaningful Whole, Eclipsing Or Denying The Other Parts Of Self.