In One Sense I Feel That My

But Still, The Other Voice, The Intuitive, Returns, Like Grass Forcing Its Way Through Concrete.

In One Sense I Feel That My Book Is A One-woman Argument Against Determinism.

... This Is The Paradox Of Vision: Sharp Perception Softens Our Existence In The World.

To Make Love Is To Become Like This Infant Again. We Grope With Our Mouths Toward The Body Of Another Being, Whom We Trust, Who Takes Us In Her Arms. We Rock Together With This Loved One. We Move Beyond Speech. Our Bodies Move Past All The Controls We Have Learned. We Cry Out In Ecstasy, In Feeling. We Are Back In A Natural World Before Culture Tried To Erase Our Experience Of Nature. In This World, To Touch Another Is To Express Love; There Is No Idea Apart From Feeling, And No Feeling Which Does Not Ring Through Our Bodies And Our Souls At Once.

A Story Is Told As Much By Silence As By Speech.