I Think I Read Susan Brownmiller's Classic

It's All Real In Outside, Everything There Is, Because I Saw An Airplane In The Blue Between The Clouds. Ma And Me Can't Go There Because We Don't Know The Secret Code, But It's Real All The Same. Before I Didn't Know To Be Mad That We Can't Open Door, My Head Was Too Small To Have Outside In It.

I Guess The Feminism In "room" Springs To Mind Most.

People Don't Always Want To Be With People. It Gets Tiring.

There Are Some Tales Not For Telling, Whether Because They Are Too Long, Too Precious, Too Laughable, Too Painful, Too Easy To Need Telling Or Too Hard To Explain. After All, After Years And Travels My Secrets Are All I Have Left To Chew On In The Night.

You Cannot Predict Literary Success; The Only Way You Can Possibly Aim For It Is To Do Your Thing And Do It Well.