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

I feel terribly vulnerable and 'not-myself' when I'm not writing.

I began to see why woman-haters could make such fools of women. Woman-haters were like gods: invulnerable and chock full of power. They descended, and then they disappeared. You could never catch one.

The body is amazingly stubborn when it comes to sacrificing itself to the annihilating directions of the mind.

If only a group of people were more important to me than the idea of a Novel, I might begin a novel.

I am I-I am powerful, but to what extent? I am I.

I smile, now, thinking: we all like to think we are important enough to need psychiatrists