I do not fight against men, but against the system that is sexist.

Sunday, the day for the language of leisure.

Every day, a piece of music, a short story, or a poem dies because its existence is no longer justified in our time. And things that were once considered immortal have become mortal again, no one knows them anymore. Even though they deserve to survive.

Strictly speaking, there are no holidays for art; art pursues you everywhere, and that's just fine with the artist.

Seek and you shall find the repulsive things you secretly hope to find.

It could draw from a greater reservoir of freedom. The irony could develop an even greater ease.

Anna despises two classes of people: first, those who own their own homes and have cars and families, and second, everybody else. Constantly she is on the verge of exploding. With rage. A pool of pure red. The pool is filled with speechlessness that talks away at her nonstop.