In heterosexual love there's no solution. Man and woman are irreconcilable, and it's the doomed attempt to do the impossible, repeated in each new affair, that lends heterosexual love its grandeur.

That she had so completely recovered her sanity was a source of sadness to her. One should never be cured of one's passion.

I am dead. I have no desire for you. My body no longer wants the one who doesn’t love.

It's afterwards you realize that the feeling of happiness you had with a man didn't necessarily prove that you loved him.

There are many women who write as they think they should write - to imitate men and make a place for themselves in literature.

I'm still there, watching those possessed children, as far away from the mystery now as I was then. I've never written, though I thought I wrote, never loved, though I thought I loved, never done anything but wait outside the closed door.

When the past is recaptured by the imagination, breath is put back into life.