Then She Was Pressing Her

I Feel With Some Passion That What We Truly Are Is Private, And Almost Infinitely Complex, And Ambiguous, And Both External And Internal, And Double- Or Triple- Or Multiply Natured, And Largely Mysterious Even To Ourselves; And Furthermore That What We Are Is Only Part Of Us, Because Identity, Unlike "identity", Must Include What We Do. And I Think That To Find Oneself And Every Aspect Of This Complexity Reduced In The Public Mind To One Property That Apparently Subsumes All The Rest ("gay", "black", "muslim", Whatever) Is To Be The Victim Of A Piece Of Extraordinary Intellectual Vulgarity.

It's Not My Business To Remedy Deaths! It's My Business To Tell Stories. Lyra And The Other Heroines Didn't Come With Placards Saying, "make This A Feminist Story!" I'm Glad People Enjoy Seeing A Female Protagonist In A Big Adventure Story, But I Didn't Do It For Political Reasons.

Imagination Is A Form Of Seeing

You'll Drift Apart, It's True, But You'll Be Out In The Open, Part Of Everything Alive Again.

What Work Do I Have To Do Then?" Said Will, But Went On At Once, "no, On Second Thought, Don't Tell Me. I Shall Decide What I Do. If You Say My Work Is Fighting, Or Healing, Or Exploring, Or Whatever You Might Say, I'll Always Be Thinking About It. And If I Do End Up Doing That, I'll Be Resentful Because It'll Feel As If I Didn't Have A Choice, And If I Don't Do It, I'll Feel Guilty Because I Should. Whatever I Do, I Will Choose It, No One Else.