I don't think that sex necessarily produces intimacy.

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

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

Exceptional people are often called crazy by the ordinary world.

Is there no Villain in this World who doth not regard himself as a poor abus'd Innocent, no She-Wolf who doth not think herself a Lamb, no Shark who doth not fancy that she is a Goldfish?

My generation of young female writers discovered that we could dictate the form and content of our own fiction.

Plot is just a fancy way of saying 'and then.