Ideology has shaped the very sofa on which I sit.

We sometimes find truth, but more often it finds us.

I reject all evidence that my fabulous beloved is an ordinary person who worries, watches TV, and has bouts of indigestion.

Intelligence in isolation turns to aimless marauding.

The nature of language may determine what most people say, but I always speak my own meaning.

After an argument, silence may mean acceptance or the continuation of resistance by other means.

Not even self-love can always be counted on for support.