Theory -the seeing of patterns, showing the forest as well as the trees- theory can be a dew that rises from earth and collects in the rain cloud and returns to earth over and over. But if it doesn't smell of the earth, it isn't good for earth. -Notes Toward a Politics of Location.

Adrienne Rich

Adrienne Rich

Profession: Poet
Nationality: American

Some suggestions for you :

Those who speak largely of the human condition are usually those most exempt from its oppressions - whether of sex, race, or servitude.

The liar has many friends, and leads an existence of great loneliness.

I came to explore the wreck. The words are purposes...are maps...I came to see the damage that was done and the treasures that prevail.

Poetry is the liquid voice that can wear through stone.

Any woman who has moved from the playing fields of male discourse into the realm where women are developing our own descriptions of the world knows the extraordinary sense of shedding, as it were, the encumbrance of someone else's baggage, of ceasing to translate.

The avoidance of pain - physical or psychic - is a dangerous mechanism, which can cause us to lose touch not just with our painful sensations but with ourselves.

There is no 'the truth,' 'a truth'--truth is not one thing, or even a system. It is an increasing complexity.

I don't trust them but I'm learning to use them.

The dead we say as if speaking.

They can rule the world while they can persuade us our pain belongs in some order is death by famine worse than death by suicide, than a life of famine and suicide?

Theory-the seeing of patterns, showing the forest as well as the trees.

The living, politicized woman claims to be a person whether she is attached to a family or not, whether she is attached to a man or not, whether she is a mother or not.

To write as if your life depended on it; to write across the chalkboard, putting up there in public the words you have dredged; sieved up in dreams, from behind screen memories, out of silence-- words you have dreaded and needed in order to know you exist.

By dawn you were pure electric. You pulsed like a star. You awoke in the last darkness before the light poured in.