Women are the fulfilled sex. Through our children we are able to produce our own immortality, so we lack that divine restlessness which sends men charging off in pursuit of fortune or fame or an imagined Utopia. That is why we number so few geniuses among us. The wholesome oyster wears no pearl, the healthy whale no ambergris, and as long as we can keep on adding to the race, we harbor a sort of health within ourselves.
ATTRIBUTION:
Phyllis McGinley (1905–1978), U.S. poet, author. “Some of My Best Friends ...,” The Province of the Heart (1959).
