The fish in the creek said nothing. Fish never do. Few people know what fish think about injustice, or anything else.

If a book told you something when you were fifteen, it will tell you it again when you're fifty, though you may understand it so differently that it seems you're reading a whole new book.

We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings.

There are souls, he thought, whose umbilicus has never been cut. They never got weaned from the universe. They do not understand death as an enemy; they look forward to rotting and turning into humus.

A writer either speaks to adults and bores kids, or speaks to kids and upsets adults.

What is a woman's power then?" she asked. "I don't think we know." "When has a woman power because she's a woman? With her children, I suppose. For a while..." "In her house, maybe." She looked around the kitchen. "But the doors are shut," she said, "the doors are locked." "Because you're valuable." "Oh yes. We're precious. So long as we're powerless.

We need writers who know the difference between the production of a commodity and the practice of an art.