The moon is always female and so am I although often in the vale of razorblades I have wished I could put on and take off my sex like a dress and why not?

We're herded into schools and terrified into behaving. Taught how we're supposed to pretend to be, taught to parrot all kinds of nonsense at the flick of a switch, taught to keep our heads down and our elbows in and shut off our minds and shut off our sex. We learn we can't even piss when we have to. That's how we learn to be plastic and dumb.

The anger of the weak never goes away, Professor, it just gets a little moldy. It molds like a beautiful blue cheese in the dark, growing stronger, and more interesting. The poor and the weak die with all their anger intact and probably those angers go on growing in the dark of the grave like the hair and the nails.

I am a driven writer. I feel guilty if I don't write, not self-indulgent if I do.

My strength and my weakness are twins in the same womb.

Work is its own cure. You have to like it better than being loved.

Too much self-regard has never struck me as dignified: trying to twist over my shoulder to view my own behind.