The clock talked loud. I threw it away, it scared me what it talked.
And when is there time to remember, to sift, to weigh, to estimate, to total?
Women have the right to say: this is surface, this falsifies reality, this degrades.
There are worse words than cuss words there are words that hurt.
I know that I haven't powers enough to divide myself into one who earns and one who creates.
Literary history and the present are dark with silences . . . I have had special need to learn all I could of this over the years, myself so nearly remaining mute and having to let writing die over an...