The great mass of women throughout history have been confined to the cultural level of animal life in providing the male with sexual outlet and exercising the animal functions of reproduction and care of the young.

I'm slammed with an identity that can no longer say a word; mute with responsibility.

In those days, when you got boxed, that was it. A lot of old people were there because somebody wanted the farm. It was about property. People are treated like property.

The involuntary character of psychiatric treatment is at odds with the spirit and ethics of medicine itself.

Aren't women prudes if they don't and prostitutes if they do?

To be a rebel is not to be a revolutionary. It is more often by a way of spinning one's wheels deeper in sand.

During depression the world disappears. Language itself. One has nothing to say. Nothing. No small talk, no anecdotes. Nothing can be risked on the board of talk. Because the inner voice is so urgent in its own discourse: How shall I live? How shall I manage the future? Why should I go on?