A thing there was that mattered; a thing, wreathed about with chatter, defaced, obscured in her own life, let drop every day in corruption, lies, chatter. This he had preserved. Death was defiance. Death was an attempt to communicate; people feeling the impossibility of reaching the centre which, mystically, evaded them; closeness drew apart; rapture faded, one was alone. There was an embrace in death.

Consolation for those moments when you can't tell whether you're the divinest genius or the greatest fool in the world.

Often on a wet day I begin counting up; what I've read; what I haven't read.

At any rate, when a subject is highly controversial-and any question about sex is that-one cannot hope to tell the truth. One can only show how one came to hold whatever opinion one does hold.

I detest the masculine point of view. I am bored by his heroism, virtue, and honour. I think the best these men can do is not talk about themselves anymore.

Yes, she thought, laying down her brush in extreme fatigues, I have had my vision.

Never let anybody guess that you have a mind of your own. Above all be pure