Sometimes I think that just not thinking of oneself is a form of prayer. . .

The past is a sorry country.

truth ... is the first casualty of tyranny.

my love of water ... is mingled with and almost indistinguishable from a fear of water (I can float in a vertical position - I enter a fugue state - but I cannot bear to bury my face in water).

Every house we have lived in, every building to which our hands have lent their work, belongs to us by virtue of love or of regret.

Every generation reinvents the wheel - and in the process it often adds to rather than subtracts from a woman's burdens.

Persecution always acts as a jell for members of cults; it proves to them, in the absence of history, liturgy, tradition, and doctrine, that they are God's chosen.