My feelings about men are the result of my experience. I have little sympathy for them. Like a Jew just released from Dachau, I watch the handsome young Nazi soldier fall writhing to the ground with a bullet in his stomach and I look briefly and walk on. I don’t even need to shrug. I simply don’t care. What he was, as a person, I mean, what his shames and yearnings were, simply don’t matter.

Even disasters -- there are always disasters when you travel -- can be turned into adventures.

Marriage accustomed one to the good things, so one came to take them for granted, but it magnified the bad things, so they came to feel as painful as a grain in one's eye. An open window, a forgotten quart of milk, a TV set left blaring, socks on the bathroom floor could become occasions for incredible rage.

It isn't success after all, is it, if it isn't an expression of your deepest energies?

It's strange how men feel they have the right to criticize a woman's appearance to her face.

I believe that all human beings are equal. I believe that no one has the right to authority over anyone else.

Fear is a question. What are you afraid of and why? Our fears are a treasure house of self-knowledge if we explore them.