Well, To Be Honest I Think I

Women Were Brought Up To Believe That Men Were The Answer. They Weren't. They Weren't Even One Of The Questions.

We Live, We Die, We Are Remembered, We Are Forgotten.

When You’re Young You Prefer The Vulgar Months, The Fullness Of The Seasons. As You Grow Older You Learn To Like The In-between Times, The Months That Can’t Make Up Their Minds. Perhaps It’s A Way Of Admitting That Things Can’t Ever Bear The Same Certainty Again.

I Thought Of The Things That Had Happened To Me Over The Years, And Of How Little I Had Made Happen.

To Look At Ourselves From Afar, To Make The Subjective Suddenly Objective: This Gives Us A Psychic Shock.