Why are women immobile? Because so many feel like they're waiting for someone to say, 'You're good, you're pretty, I give you permission.'

I think the world is always improving and always not improving. I think that both are simultaneously happening all the time.

I think when people begin to tell their stories, everything changes, because not only are you legitimised in the telling of your story and are you found, literally, like you matter, you exist in the telling of your story, but when you hear your story be told, you suddenly exist in community and with others.

If you are connected to your own internal being, it is very hard to be screwing and destroying and hurting another human being, because you'll be feeling what they're feeling. If you're separated, it's not a hard thing to do at all.

When you listen to other women's stories you begin to understand your own better and you begin to find ways back through and with each other.

In “securing” people, make them really really afraid. Create all kinds of colors and alerts that terrorize the population. Terror and numbness will eventually be mistaken for security. In “securing” people, take away their opinions and voices and instincts. Make them feel afraid to speak out. Control will eventually be mistaken for security. In “securing” people, distract them through addictive consumption and mindless entertainment programming. Amnesia will eventually be mistaken for security.

I want to read so I can read the Koran read the signs in the street know the number of the bus I’m supposed to take when I one day leave this house.

There’s an underlying puritanicalness in America that is not that different to the prudishness of Britain – it just manifests itself in different ways.

I live with that contradiction daily. It is a constant struggle. I struggle very deeply. I don’t think I’ve said this to anyone, but I’ve wondered if I just want to give up this world and live in the Congo and just be there. But I don’t think that’s what they need from me.

Each admission here defies a blood vow determined long before my birth. An apologist is a traitor of the highest order. How many men, how many fathers ever admit to failures or offenses? The act itself is a betrayal of the basic code. It sprays shrapnel of guilt in all directions. If one of us is wrong, the whole structure and story come tumbling down. Our silence is our bond. The power of not telling, of not letting on, is the most ancient and powerful weapon in our arsenal.