I hate the word lesbian; it tells you nothing; its only purpose is to inflame.

As far as I was concerned men were something you had around the place, not particularly interesting, but quite harmless. I had never shown the slightest feeling for them, and apart from my never wearing a skirt, saw nothing else in common between us.

I kissed her and forgot death.

I seem to have run in a great circle, and met myself again on the starting line.

I am a writer who happens to love women. I am not a lesbian who happens to write.

There is always a city. There is always a civilisation. There is always a barbarian with a pickaxe. Sometimes you are the city, sometimes you are the civilisation, but to become that city, that civilisation, you once took a pickaxe and destroyed what you hated, and what you hated was what you did not understand.