I want, I think, to be omniscient. I think I would like to call myself "the girl who wanted to be God." Yet if I were not in this body where would I be-perhaps I am destined to be classified and qualified. But, oh, I cry out against it.

Opinions are like orgasms...mine matters most and I really don't care if you have one.

They had to call and call And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don't love me, love my writing & love me for my writing. It is also much more: a way of ordering and reordering the chaos of experience.

If you expect nothing from anybody, you’re never disappointed.

I want to kill myself, to escape from responsiblity, to crawl abjectly back into the womb.

I never feel so much myself as when I'm in a hot bath.