Women alone stir my imagination.
All artists need a room of their own
Women and fiction remain, so far as I am concerned, unsolved problems.
So that the monotonous fall of the waves on the beach, which for the most part beat a measured and soothing tattoo to her thoughts seemed consolingly to repeat over and over again.
A self that goes on changing is a self that goes on living.
To let oneself be carried on passively is unthinkable.