I Remember Mother Saying : Inventors Are

Not All Things Are Blest, But The Seeds Of All Things Are Blest.

I Hear The Singing Of The Lives Of Women. They Clear Mystery, The Offering, And Pride.

One Writes In Order To Feel.

The Truth Of A Poem Is Its Form And Its Content, Its Music And Its Meaning Are The Same.

We Sit Here, Very Different Each From The Other, Until The Passion Arrives To Give Us Our Equality, To Make Us Part Of The Play, To Make The Play Part Of Us.