The revolutionary woman knows the world she seeks to overthrow is precisely one in which love between equal human beings is well nigh impossible. We are still part of the ironical working-out of this, our own cruel contradiction. One of the most compelling facts which can unite women and make us act is the overwhelming indignity or bitter hurt of being regarded as simply __he other_, __n object_, __ommodity_, __hing_. We act directly from a consciousness of the impossibility of loving or being loved without distortion. But we must still demand now the preconditions of what is impossible at the moment. It is a most disturbing dialectic, our praxis of pain.

When a Wanderess has been caged, or perched with her wings clipped, She lives like a Stoic, She lives most heroic, smiling with ruby, moistened lips once her cup of Death is welcome sipped.

I tilt my head slightly to one side, taking in her blue sleeveless dress which ends a few inches above her knees. She looks exquisite. Definitely perfect for dessert.__ know what I want to eat and it__ not lemon cake._ I say thickly.Heat flares up in her eyes and I know the cake has been forgotten.She wants to be dessert.

As soon as I saw her, I knew I had to stay far away from her. Being with her makes me feel like I__e been starving for so long. Sofia has given me a taste of something I didn__ know I wanted. Something I am now desperate for. Her.

...this refinement and delicacy were what Cale adored; but Cale had been beaten into shape, hammered in dreadful fires of fear and pain. How could she be with him for long? A secret part of Arbell had been searching for some time for a way to leave her lover__lthough she was unaware of this, it is only fair to record. And so as Cale waited for her to save him while he worked out a way of saving her, she had already chosen the bitter but reasonable path of the good, of the many over the one...

A truly happy woman drives some men and almost every other woman absolutely crazy