Our suicidal poets (Plath, Berryman, Lowell, Jarrell, et al.) spent too much of their lives inside rooms and classrooms when they should have been trudging up mountains, slogging through swamps, rowing down rivers. The indoor life is the next best thing to premature burial.

The feminists have a legitimate grievance. But so does everyone else.

If, as some say, evil lies in the hearts and not the institutions of men, then there's hardly a distinction worth making between, say, Hitler's Germany and Rebecca's Sunnybrook Farm.

I want my body to help fertilize the growth of a cactus or cliff rose or sagebrush or tree.

A man is not aware of his virtues (if any). Nevertheless, one hopes that they exist.

Motherhood is an essential, difficult, and full-time job. Women who do not wish to be mothers should not have babies.

The one great gift to humankind from our nuclear physicists has been the nuclear bomb. How can we ever thank them?