God, but life is loneliness, despite all the opiates, despite the shrill tinsel gaiety of 'parties' with no purpose, despite the false grinning faces we all wear. And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter – they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.
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"Is there no way out of the mind?"
"I may be a fool, but I'm not a stupid fool. I'm a fool in the way that an artist is a fool, that a visionary is a fool. I'm a fool in the way that a saint is a fool."
"Being born a woman is my awful tragedy. From the moment I was conceived I was doomed to sprout breasts and ovaries rather than penis and scrotum; to have my whole circle of action, thought and feeling…"
"If I didn't have any sex organs, I wouldn't waver on the brink of nervous emotions and tears all the time."
"I want to kill myself, to escape from responsibility, to crawl back abjectly into the womb."
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