The ocean, whose tides respond, like women's menses, to the pull of th >>
My children cause me the most exquisite suffering of which I have any >>
Only to have a grief equal to all these tears! >>
When women love us, they forgive us everything, even our crimes; when >>
If civilization had been left in female hands we would still be living >>
If they are ignorant, they are despised, if learned, mocked. In love t >>
No woman is really an insider in the institutions fathered by masculine consciousness. When we allow ourselves to believe we are, we lose touch with parts of ourselves defined as unacceptable by that consciousness; with the vital toughness and visionary strength of the angry grandmothers, the fierce market women of the Ibo's Women's War, the marriage-resisting women silk workers of pre-Revolutionary China, the millions of widows, midwives, and the women healers tortured and burned as witches for three centuries in Europe.