Silence rolled at me, in

For what are the words with which to summarize a lifetime, so much crowded confused happiness terminated by such stark slow-motion pain?

The dilemma is, in the United States, each penniless citizen believes that, with luck, he might become a millionaire; and so doesn't want to put restraints on "robber barons"-he might become one one day!

...we so resented that asshole up there talking talking talking taking up the entire assembly expecting us to believe there isn't a special creation of God, or of man, to which we didn't belong, here in the shabby south end of Hammond in the worst damn public school in the district, we didn't belong and never would. And what the hell? ---Such truths, FOXFIRE made softer.

The theme of invisibility has haunted me for many years, since earliest girlhood. A woman often feels __nvisible_ in a public sense precisely because her physical being - her __isibility_ - figures so prominently in her identity. She is judged as a body, she is __ttractive_ or __nattractive_, while knowing that her deepest self is inward, and secret: knowing, hoping that her spiritual essence is a great deal more complex than the casual eye of the observer will allow_ it might be argued that all persons, defined to themselves rather more as what they think and dream than what they do, are __nvisible_.

And remember: you must not overwork your body, or your soul. You must not enslave yourself, as you would not enslave any other person. You must be the custodian of your self.