RAFs

The perceived result of last week's Random Act of Feminism, turned out to be a co-incidence.

Today I received an e-mail from a lady called Colleen, saying that my observation was 'interesting' and inviting me to supply some womanly quotes. I googled and lo! Google came up with the goods instantly and I, in turn, supplied some of said goods to Colleen. But it did give me food for thought. There was some bloody good stuff out there, and I will be doing further research.

A really interesting one however, was by an American writer, Maryanne Williamson,
“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most." Now this quotation was used by Nelson Mandela in his inaugural speech in 1994, but some people remember this as a quote from Mandela. I don't, on this occasion, believe that it is because he is a man, but because he is the more well-known person, but even so...

I have come to realise that I distrust people who don't drink wine at all. And after deep and reflective intellectualisation, I believe this to be as reasonable a criterion as any.

In place of writing anything else myself, I will give two more quotes, one a luminous poem by Poet Laureate (oh yes, I have ten years to not tire of that), Carol Ann Duffy,

“Warming Her Pearls”
for Judith Radstone
Next to my own skin, her pearls. My mistress
bids me wear them, warm them, until evening
when I’ll brush her hair. At six, I place them
round her cool, white throat. All day I think of her,

resting in the Yellow Room, contemplating silk
or taffeta, which gown tonight? She fans herself
whilst I work willingly, my slow heat entering
each pearl. Slack on my neck, her rope.

She´s beautiful. I dream about her
in my attic bed; picture her dancing
with tall men, puzzled by my faint, persistent scent
beneath her French perfume, her milky stones.

I dust her shoulders with a rabbit´s foot,
watch the soft blush seep through her skin
like an indolent sigh. In her looking-glass
my red lips part as though I want to speak.

Full moon. Her carriage brings her home. I see
her every movement in my head ... Undressing,
taking off her jewels, her slim hand reaching
for the case, slipping naked into bed, the way

she always does ... And I lie here awake,
knowing the pearls are cooling even now
in the room where my mistress sleeps. All night
I feel their absence and I burn.


and the other, by Nancy Astor,
"In passing, also, I would like to say that the first time Adam had a chance he laid the blame on a woman."

I rest my case.