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“I can't say that I ever feel what it felt like then, when I was happy. But sometimes something will touch the place where that feeling was, a touch as slight and swift as the brush of a moth's wing in the dark.”
― Year of Wonders
― Year of Wonders
“Woman of the Sea
To the men of the sea
Who sail with the wind
And are free,
To the Land that has borne them
And the seed that has torn them
From me,
For I gave it willing, without grieving,
To the sons of my soul,
Who in seeking the truth of existence
Have quenched the starvation in me,
For I, am but woman,
And all, 'tis all I shall be.”
― In Retrospect
To the men of the sea
Who sail with the wind
And are free,
To the Land that has borne them
And the seed that has torn them
From me,
For I gave it willing, without grieving,
To the sons of my soul,
Who in seeking the truth of existence
Have quenched the starvation in me,
For I, am but woman,
And all, 'tis all I shall be.”
― In Retrospect
“In fact I need you to know it was all true. The friendly guy who helps you move and assists senior citizens in the pool is the same guy who assaulted me. One person can be capable of both. Society often fails to wrap its head around the fact that these truths often coexist, they are not mutually exclusive. Bad qualities can hide inside a good person. That's the terrifying part.”
― Know My Name: A Memoir
― Know My Name: A Memoir
“Witch. The word slithers from the mouth like a serpent, drips from the tongue as thick and black as tar. We never thought of ourselves as witches, my mother and I. For this was a word invented by men, a word that brings power to those that speak it, not those that it describes. A word that builds gallows and pyres, turns breathing women into corpses.”
― Weyward
― Weyward
“What Am I to Write?
What am I to write for you?
Blank page,
White emptiness,
Broken words are not enough
Nor spluttered ink spat out in ignorance,
Contemptuous of its desire to mark
And maim,
Indulges so at first,
And then again.
But No
I will not take to mediocre ways,
Nor overplay the passion song in muse,
For the heart well tuned
Needs not the head
To pump its life,
And the arteries awakened to the rhythm,
Subtle rhythm,
Should suffice.”
― In Retrospect
What am I to write for you?
Blank page,
White emptiness,
Broken words are not enough
Nor spluttered ink spat out in ignorance,
Contemptuous of its desire to mark
And maim,
Indulges so at first,
And then again.
But No
I will not take to mediocre ways,
Nor overplay the passion song in muse,
For the heart well tuned
Needs not the head
To pump its life,
And the arteries awakened to the rhythm,
Subtle rhythm,
Should suffice.”
― In Retrospect
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