“What's this flesh? A little cruded milkFantastical puff-paste. Our bodies are weaker than thosePaper prisons boys use to keep flies in; more contemptible,Since our is to preserve earth-worms. Didst thou ever seen A lark in a cage? Such is the soul in the body: this worldIs like her little turf of grass, and the heaven o'er our heads Like her looking-glass, only gives us a miserable knowledge Of the small compass of our prison.”

“I was caged in our body and caged in his arms and, somehow, the former was the real prison.”

“Eating connects us to our histories as much as it connects our souls to our bodies, our bodies to the earth.”

“The eyes of others our prisons; their thoughts our cages.”

“No, we're not prisoners of flesh, I think, bound in our skins, and only waiting for the final judgment that will send us into fire or light. We're fucking prisoners of conscience, prisoners of fear and shame. We're fucking prisoners of sorrow, and it's time for our release.”

“But in a way you can say that after leaving the sea, after all those millions of years of living inside of the sea, we took the ocean with us. When a woman makes a baby, she gives it water, inside her body, to grow in. That water inside her body is almost exactly the same as the water of the sea. It is salty, by just the same amount. She makes a little ocean, in her body. And not only this. Our blood and our sweating, they are both salty, almost exactly like the water from the sea is salty. We carry oceans inside of us, in our blood and our sweat. And we are crying the oceans, in our tears.”