You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book… or you take a trip… and you discover that you are not living, that you are . . .
The greatest feminists have also been the greatest lovers. I'm thinking not only of Mary Wollstonecraft and her daughter Mary Shelley, but of Anais Nin, Edna St. Vincent Millay, and of . . .
She glared at him through tear-filled eyes. “You talk of your pain? You cannot even begin to understand the sacrifice I have made. I gave away a piece of myself, my soul! But I did it. . .
As he clutched her in his shaking hands and wept against her, he whispered into her ear, the words that made him believe. “Love bears all things. Endures all things,” he said. “Ou. . .