Rummaging In The Storehouses Of

Conversation Succeeds Conversation, Until There's Nothing Left To Talk About Except Truth, The Perennial Monologue, And No Talker To Dispute It But Itself.

To A Poet The Mere Making Of A Poem Can Seem To Solve The Problem Of Truth…but Only A Problem Of Art Is Solved In Poetry.

Shakespeare Alternated Between Musical Surrenders To Social Prestige And Magnificent Fits Of Poetic Remorse.

Woman Has Two Works To Perform: A Work Of Differentiation, Of Man From Herself, And A Work Of Unification, Of Man With Herself. ... We, Woman, Are Now Entering Upon Our Second Work.

Until The Missing Story Of Ourselves Is Told, Nothing Besides Told Can Suffice Us: We Shall Go On Quietly Craving It.