Chinks in America's egalitarian armor are not hard to find. Democracy is the fig leaf of elitism.

A woman must wait for her ovaries to die before she can get her rightful personality back. Post-menstrual is the same as pre-menstrual; I am once again what I was before the age of twelve: a female human being who knows that a month has thirty day, not twenty-five, and who can spend every one of them free of the shackles of that defect of body and mind known as femininity.

If whisky or salt won't cure it, then to hell with it. I worry about important things.

Of all the old maid's blessing, the greatest is carte blanche. Spinsterhood is powerful; once a woman is called "that crazy old maid" she can get away with anything.

Gradually my whole concept of time changed until I thought of a month as having twenty-five days of humanness and five others when I might just as well have been an animal in a steel trap.

Agoraphobia was my quirky armor against a gregarious America.

Chinks in America's egalitarian armor are not hard to find. Democracy is the fig leaf of elitism.