What horrifies me most is the idea of being useless: well-educated, brilliantly promising, and fading out into an indifferent middle age.

What have I eaten? Lies and smiles.

I sank back in the gray, plush seat and closed my eyes. The air of the bell jar wadded round me and I couldn't stir.

I need the reality of other people, work, to fulfill myself. Must never become a mere mother and housewife.

How can you be so many women to so many strange people, oh you strange girl?

The reason I haven't been writing in this book for so long is partly that I haven't had one decent coherent thought to put down.

Slowly, slowly, catch the monkey.