My relatives used to laugh when I talked of being a writer.

Are we not all desperate one way or another?

I often reread books I have written

Despair is sometimes the great energizer of the mind, though sometimes its flowering may be sterile.

Even the most malignant gods would not continue to inflict life upon humanity, time without end.

There is no solid satisfaction in any career for a woman like myself. There is no home, no true freedom, no hope, no joy, no expectation for tomorrow, no contentment. I would rather cook a meal for a man and bring him his slippers and feel myself in the protection of his arms than have all the citations and awards and honors I have received worldwide, including the Ribbon of Legion of Honor and my property and my bank accounts. They mean nothing to me. And I am only one among the millions of sad women like myself.

Freedom was given to humanity by God. But, governments, if they can help it, never give freedom. They just hand out slavery with slogans.