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

Good sex is a mystery. Perhaps humping and pumping is not a mystery, but good sex is a mystery, and how human beings become truly intimate remains a mystery.

Perhaps all artists were, in a sense, housewives: tenders of the earth household.

What I discovered was is that it's rare to find a person that you feel very intimate with, and you can sleep with lots of people and not find what you're looking for.

Is a currency worth anything if no one wants it? We used to buy shoes in Italy. Remember?

I think I've become more cynical about sex. Meaning, I don't think sex in and of itself leads to an epiphany.

Women in America read 'lifestyle' pages which are really glorifications of shopping. They teach us we must veil ourselves in make-up to be loved. And we willingly take the veil, thinking ourselves freed by it. Make-up is no more optional for us than the veil is for Arab women: it is our Western version of the chador.