Making love to Jesse was more like drugs than sex, nothing was static or confined to one role. Under my hands he was a girl, a newborn child, a flowering plant, a sculpture that I was carving inch by inch, the perfection of all my desires. He was not conscious of himself other than as something undergoing change and seeking to minimize pain, he was open to all possibilities.
Sometimes, out of all this static and confusion, the Other assembles itself and takes form before our very eyes.
Barbara Ehrenreich, Living With a Wild God: A Nonbeliever’s Search for the Truth About Everything [Bookshop, Amazon, Publisher]
News flash, honeys, the equipment you’re born with has nothing to do with how strong or weak you are. It hasn’t nothing to do with anything about you. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Besides, some people would kill for what you’ve got.
He looked at me. “I don’t know what she might have told you, miss, but—” “My name’s Sarah Jane,” I told him. “Sarah Jane Dillard.” He sighed. “But the first thing should have been not to share your name with any stranger you might happen to meet in the woods.” “He’s right about that,” Aunt Lillian said. “I’ve heard so much about you,” I said. “I didn’t think you were a stranger.” “No, he’s a stranger, all right,” Aunt Lillian corrected me. “That’s what you call folks you never see.”
Life is not about you. It’s about what you do for others. The faster you are able to get over yourself, the more you can do for the people who matter most.