In domestic life the woman's value is inherent, unquantifiable; at home she exchanges proven values for mythological ones. She "wants" to be at home, and because she is a woman she's allowed to want it. This desire is her mystique, it is both what enables her to domesticate herself and what disempowers her.

Help is dangerous because it exists outside the human economy: the only payment for help is gratitude.

I think a lot of artists no longer want to participate in or be associated with narrative because of its corruptedness in contemporary culture.

I absolutely don't dislike children - I would choose their company over adult company any time.

Reality might be described as the eternal equipoise of positive and negative.

Honest criticism, I suppose, has its place. But honest writing is infinitely more valuable.

The true self seeks release, not constraint. It doesnt want to be corseted in a sonnet or made to learn a system of musical notations. It wants liberation, which is why very often it fastens on the novel, for the novel seems spacious, undefined, free.