It takes a spasm of love to write a poem.

Women are not the richer sex. Women are not equal in society.

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

Sex just as a drive, as a hormonal drive, is not very interesting.

A concern with 'public morality' is - if not the last refuge of a scoundrel - the first foray of the fascist.

I thought to spend my declining years writing poetry and teaching - but that won't pay the Bergdorf's bill. I think I'll move to somewhere life is cheaper.

The greatest feminists have also been the greatest lovers. I'm thinking not only of Mary Wollstonecraft and her daughter Mary Shelley, but of Anais Nin, Edna St. Vincent Millay, and of course Sappho. You cannot divide creative juices from human juices. And as long as juicy women are equated with bad women, we will err on the side of being bad.