I'm a radical feminist, not the fun kind.

In my own life, I don't have intercourse. That is my choice.

Any man will follow any feminine looking thing down any dark alley; I've always wanted to see a man beaten to a shit bloody pulp with a high-heeled shoe stuffed up his mouth, sort of the pig with the apple; it would be good to put him on a serving plate but you'd need good silver.

The tragedy is that women so committed to survival cannot recognize that they are committing suicide.

Feminist art is not some tiny creek running off the great river of real art. It is not some crack in an otherwise flawless stone. It is, quite spectacularly I think, art which is not based on the subjugation of one half of the species. It is art which will take the great human themes -love, death, heroism, suffering, history itself -and render them fully human. It may also, though perhaps our imaginations are so mutilated now that we are incapable even of the ambition, introduce a new theme, one as great and as rich as those others -should we call it joy?

No woman needs intercourse; few women escape it.

If you want a definition of what a coward is, it’s needing to push a whole class of people down so that you can walk on top of them.