Every single man I did get to know filled me with but one desire: to lift my hand and bring it smashing down on his face

Jag läser Nawal el-Sadawi i Woman at Point Zero:

As I turned over in the bed a thought flashed trough my mind. Revolutionary men with principles were not really different from the rest. They used their cleverness to get, in return for principles, what other men buy with their money. Revolution for them was like sex for us. Something to be abused. Something to be sold.

Tänker på min mamma, och på alla andras mammor. Och på att det kommer att vara annorlunda någon gång.