She called herself an angel, and wandered the world from girlhood till death. She lived every kind of life and dreamt every kind of dream. She was wild in her wandering, a drop of free water. She believed only in her life and in her dreams. She called herself an angel, and her god was Beauty.
A strong woman knows who she is and the path she wish to travel on.
With her enchanting songs, her rare beauty, and clever tricks, this wild 'wanderess' ensnared my soul like a gypsy-thief, and led me foolish and blind to where you find me now. The first time I saw her, fires were alight. It was a spicy night in Barcelona. The air was fragrant and free.
...I day dream.
Therefore,
I am the queen,
of my thoughts.
Though thirteen,
I drift,
between,
one conception,
to another.
I create opinions,
liberate dilemmas,
assert convictions,
deal paroxysm,
create perfections.”
I am neither,
a thinker,
nor a,
perceiver,
I am a Day Dreamer...
A woman is not an object of convinience; but a creation of Gods purpose.
En la medida que cada mujer se conozca, conocera de su contradictorio genero, pues, aunque todas podamos ser distintas, somos iguales: diosas hasta cuando retenemos agua; hadas, aunque perdamos los papeles, y brujas porque perdemos demasiado a menudo los papeles.
Convivamos con nuestros ovarios. Hagamos de cuenta que son dos cerebros más.