A majority of women's magazines feature women who do amazing things, but then the article focuses on how she ruined it with her shoes.

As a former ballerina, I can't put down Maggie Shipstead's new book, Astonish Me.

I think it's a really important thing for women to be able to just put their hands up and go, I can't actually do any more.

When you live in a small house with five younger siblings, it's actually far more sensible- and much quicker- to cry alone.

When a woman says, ‘I have nothing to wear!’, what she really means is, ‘There’s nothing here for who I’m supposed to be today.

It's the silliness--the profligacy, and the silliness--that's so dizzying: a seven-year-old will run downstairs, kiss you hard, and then run back upstairs again, all in less than 30 seconds. It's as urgent an item on their daily agenda as eating or singing. It's like being mugged by Cupid.

What art should be about,' they will say, 'is revealing exquisite and resonant truths about the human condition.' Well, to be honest - no, it shouldn’t. I mean, it can occasionally, if it wants to; but really, how many penetrating insights to human nature do you need in one lifetime? Two? Three? Once you’ve realised that no one else has a clue what they’re doing, either, and that love can be totally pointless, any further insights into human nature just start getting depressing really.