The torment that so many young women know, bound hand and foot by love and motherhood, without having forgotten their former dreams.

…but all day long I would be training myself to think, to understand, to criticize, to know myself; I was seeking for the absolute truth: this preoccupation did not exactly encourage polite conversation.

Each person has his or her own very particular history and after all, the unconscious is the most secret part of ourselves.

Representation of the world, like the world itself, is the work of men; they describe it from their own point of view, which they confuse with the absolute truth.

There are topics which are common to men and women. I think that if a woman speaks of oppression, of misery, she will speak of it in exactly the same way as a man. But if she speaks of her own personal problems as a woman, she will obviously speak in another way.

I take on a shape and an existence only if I first throw myself into the world by loving, by doing.

Words have to murder reality before they can hold it captive.