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.
I know that I haven't powers enough to divide myself into one who earns and one who creates.
There are worse words than cuss words there are words that hurt.
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...