I would never have taken up painting if women did not have breasts.
Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze.
The innocent seldom find an uncomfortable pillow.
Pleasure admitted in undue degree, enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.
Fate steals along with silent tread, Found oftenest in what least we dread; Frowns in the storm with angry brow, But in the sunshine strikes the blow.
We are never more in danger than when we think ourselves most secure, nor in reality more secure than when we seem to be most in danger.
Far happier are the dead methinks than they who look for death and fear it every day.
Tell me anything. Tell me everything. Revoke our time apart. Love me fierce in danger.
If she spoke, she would tell him the truth: she was not okay at all, but horribly empty, now that she knew what it was like to be filled.
Sometimes after an enjoyable family home evening, during a fervent family prayer, or when our entire family is at the dinner table on Sunday evening eating waffles and engaging in a session of lively, good-matured conversation, I quietly say to myself, 'If heaven is nothing more than this, it will be good enough for me!'
Women need to become literary criminals, break the literary laws and reinvent their own, because the established laws prevent women from presenting the reality of their lives.