So Much Of What I See Reminds

I Am A Writer And A Feminist, And The Two Seem To Be Constantly In Conflict.... Ever Since I Became Loosely Involved With It, It Has Seemed To Me One Of The Recurring Ironies Of This Movement That There Is No Way To Tell The Truth About It Without, In Some Small Way, Seeming To Hurt It.

I Definitely Divide My Life Into Decades. Almost Every Ten Years, Something In My Work Life Has Changed. My Twenties Were My Journalistic Phase, Then There Was My Screenwriting Phase, Then I Became A Director, Then I Started Doing Some Plays.

There's A Reason Why Forty, Fifty, And Sixty Don't Look The Way They Used To, And It's Not Because Of Feminism, Or Better Living Through Exercise. It's Because Of Hair Dye. In The 1950's Only 7 Percent Of American Women Dyed Their Hair; Today There Are Parts Of Manhattan And Los Angeles Where There Are No Gray-haired Women At All.

I Was Just Taking Her Hand To Help Her Out Of A Car And I Knew. It Was Like... Magic.

You Can't Retrieve You Life (unless You're On Wikipedia, In Which Case You Can Retrieve An Inaccurate Version Of It).