Blocks usually stem from fear of being judged. If you imagine the world is listening, you'll never write a line.

At fifty the madwoman in the attic breaks loose, stomps down the stairs, and sets fire to the house. She won't be imprisoned anymore.

There is simply no dignified way for a woman to live alone. Oh, she can get along financially perhaps (though not nearly as well as a man), but emotionally she is never left in peace. Her friends, her family, her fellow workers never let her forget that her husbandlessness, her childlessness - her selfishness, in short - is a reproach to the American way of life.

art is not advocacy and advocacy is not art.

Home is where your books are.

Though my friends envied me because I always seemed so cheerful and confident, I was secretly terrified of practically everything.

How could one create life with someone who represented death?