Apparently, the most difficult feat for a Cambridge male is to accept a woman not merely as feeling, not merely as thinking, but as managing a complex, vital interweaving of both.

But I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure at all. How did I know that someday―at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere―the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn't descend again?

I have been holding a dialogue with myself and girding myself to stand fast without running.

I would catch sight of some flawless man off in the distance, but as soon as he moved closer I immediately saw he wouldn’t do at all.

I love the people,' I said. 'I have room in me for love, and for ever so many little lives.

I thought how strange it had never occurred to me before that I was only purely happy until I was nine years old.

And I sit here without identity: faceless. My head aches.