Unjust. How many times I've used that word, scolded myself with it. All I mean by it now is that I don't have the final courage to say that I refuse to preside over violations against myself, and to hell with justice.
The only good thing about [aging] is you're not dead.
A room of one's own isn't nearly enough. A house, or, best, an island of one's own.
Styles in wit change so.
I'm too old to recover, too narrow to forgive myself.
Advances are made by those with at least a touch of irrational confidence in what they can do.