The heart is capable of sacrifice. So is the vagina. The heart is able to forgive and repair. It can change it's shape to let us in. It can expand to let us out. So can the vagina. It can ache for us and stretch for us, die for us and bleed and bleed us into this difficult, wondrous world. So can the vagina. I was there in the room. I remeber.

I was worried about my own vagina. It needed a context of other vaginas-- a community, a culture of vaginas. There's so much darkness and secrecy surrounding them-- like the Bermunda Triangle.

The clitoris is pure in purpose. It is the only organ in the body designed purely for pleasure.

It's a totally ridiculous, completely unsexy word. If you use it during sex, trying to be politically correct-- "Darling, could you stroke my vagina?"-- you kill the act right there. I'm worried about vaginas, what we call them and don't call them.

If overthrowing some five thousand years of patriarchy seems like a big order, just focus on celebrating each self-respect step along the way

I had always thought of my vagina as an anatomical vacuum randomly sucking up particles and objects from the surrounding environment.

I realized that the hair is there for a reason – it’s the leaf around the flower, the lawn around the house. You have to love the hair in order to love the vagina. You can’t pick the parts you want.