Trust your heart if the seas catch fire, live by love though the stars walk backwards.
Failure is a process … you have to fail over and over and over again to get anything that’s worthwhile.
I genuinely wish I could have met Mitchison. Thinking of Elizabeth Barrett Browning saying that she “looks everywhere for grandmothers and see[s] none” — Mitchison is a woman I would love to count as a grandmother. It breaks my heart that we are always rediscovering great women, excavating them from the relentless soil of homogenizing histories, seeing them forever as exceptions to a rule of sediment and placing them in museums, remarkable more for their gender than for their work.
Most of the writers whose work I love and read today are women. I want them and their writing — ten years from now, fifty, a hundred — to be remembered, and more: to be ubiquitous. To be common knowledge. To spawn imitators and adjectives, “Mitchisonian” to match “Tolkienesque.” I want them to be studied for their excellence and influence in their chosen genres. I want boys to grow up reading and loving them as a matter of course.