To try to write love is to confront the muck of language: that region of hysteria where language is both too much and too little, excessive and impoverished.

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

The only way to achieve something great is to love what you do.

I'm not a feminist, I'm a humanist.