Stars on our door, stars in our eyes, stars exploding in the bits of our brains where the common sense should have been

we must not blame our poor symbols if they take forms that seem trivial to us, or absurd, ... however paltry they may be; the nature of our life alone has determined their forms.

A day without an argument is like an egg without salt.

The end of exile is the end of being.

And, oh God, in my misspent youth as a housewife, I, too, used to bake bread, in those hectic and desolating days just prior to the woman's movement, when middle-class women were supposed to be wonderful wives and mothers, gracious hostesses.... I used to feel so womanly when I was baking my filthy bread.

Pornography is a satire on human pretensions.

Is not this world an illusion? And yet it fools everybody.