Several years ago I realized that instead of despising the fact that polio had left me with a body that was weakened and compromised, susceptible to pain and fatigue, I could choose to rejoice in it. Pete just shrugged and said, "This is nothing.
Every woman adores a Fascist, or else a guerilla killer of Fascists, or else a boot in the face from anyone.
They summon sympathy. Why are we so quick to compare ourselves to others?
He knew that suffering was a fact of life, he might have been saying in his short verse; he knew that impermanence is our home and loss the law of the world. How do we represent female pain without producing a culture in which this pain has been fetishized to the point of fantasy or imperative?
You want to cry, I am not a melodramatic person! Many collapsed into sobs.