Everything Ends With Flowers.

Wouldn't The Worst Be, Isn't The Worst, In Truth, That Women Aren't Castrated, That They Have Only To Stop Listening To The Sirens (for The Sirens Were Men) For History To Change Its Meaning? You Only Have To Look At The Medusa Straight On To See Her. And She's Not Deadly. She's Beautiful And She's Laughing.

When I Write, It's Everything That We Don't Know We Can Be That Is Written Out Of Me, Without Exclusions, Without Stipulation, And Everything We Will Be Calls Us To The Unflagging, Intoxicating, Unappeasable Search For Love. In One Another We Will Never Be Lacking.

Women Must Write Through Their Bodies, They Must Invent The Impregnable Language That Will Wreck Partitions, Classes, And Rhetorics, Regulations And Codes, They Must Submerge, Cut Through, Get Beyond The Ultimate Reverse-discourse, Including The One That Laughs At The Very Idea Of Pronouncing The Word "silence"...in One Another We Will Never Be Lacking.

I Am Sick Of Death And Worst Of All This Sickness Feeds On Itself, The More Afraid I Am The More I Am Afraid The More I Flee The More I Am Afraid The More I Am Haunted.

Woman Must Write Her Self: Must Write About Women And Bring Women To Writing, From Which They Have Been Driven Away As Violently As From Their Bodies - For The Same Reasons, By The Same Law, With The Same Fatal Goal. Woman Must Put Herself Into The Text - As Into The World And Into History - By Her Own Movement.