He Felt Changed, But There Was No

You Did Not So Much Mind Being -conventionally- Betrayed, If You Were Not Kept In The Dark, Which Was Humiliating, Or Defined Only As A Wife And Dependent Person, Which Was Annihilating.

It's Because I'm A Feminist That I Can't Stand Women Limiting Other Women's Imaginations. It Really Makes Me Angry.

I Think The Virtue I Prize Above All Others Is Curiosity.

I Don't Understand Why, In My Work, Writing Is Always So Dangerous. It's Very Destructive. People Who Write Books Are Destroyers.

Do I Do As False Prophets Do And Puff Air Into Simulacra? Am I A Sorcerer--like Macbeth's Witches--mixing Truth And Lies In Incandescent Shapes? Or Am I A Kind Of Very Minor Scribe Of A Prophetic Book--telling Such Truth As In Me Lies, With Aid Of Such Fiction As I Acknowledge Mine, As Prospero Acknowledged Caliban.