I know it's not clothes that make women beautiful or otherwise, nor beauty care, nor expensive creams, nor the distinction of costliness of their finery. I know the problem lies elsewhere. I don't know where. I only know it isn't where women think.

Their voices reach out into the empty yard, plunge deep into the hills, go right through the heart.

I see journalists as the manual workers, the laborers of the word. Journalism can only be literature when it is passionate.

You have to be very fond of men. Very, very fond. You have to be very fond of them to love them. Otherwise they're simply unbearable.

Very early in my life it was too late.

Even so you have managed to live that love in the only way possible for you. Losing it before it happened.

It's only women who are not really quite women at all, frivolous women who have no idea, who neglect repairs.