...love is essentially a much simpler phenomenon--it becomes complicated, corrupted or obstructed by an unequal balance of power.

Power, however it has evolved, whatever its origins, will not be given up without a struggle.

Women were the slave class that maintained the species in order to free the other half for the business of the world.

Romanticism is a cultural tool of male power to keep women from knowing their conditions.

Men are thinking, writing, and creating, because women were pouring their energy into those men; women are not creating culture because they are occupied with love.

Feminism, when it truly achieves its goals, will crack through the most basic structures of our society.

If women are differentiated only by superficial physical attributes, men appear more individual and irreplaceable than they really are.

He has let her in not because he genuinely loved her, but only because she played so well into his preconceived fantasies.

(Male) culture was (and is) parasitical, feeding on the emotional strength of women without reciprocity.

All men are selfish, brutal and inconsiderate--and I wish I could find one.

Thus her whole identity hangs in the balance of her love life. She is allowed to love herself only if a man finds her worthy of love.

I wonderif you ever read my poemsand wish they were writtenfor you.

I want to keep you, till the end of days.

In USA culture is just a matter of commerce. So, you know, I don't really look for that, and I don't expect to find it in any city.

Your mind is a dangerous neighbourhood and you shouldn't go in there alone at night

You see how I try To reach with words What matters most And how I fail.

You do this, you do that You argue left, you argue right You come down, you go up This person says no, you say yes Back and forth You are happy You are really happy

If you go to the ball game, you don't need to read the game story.

No matter how much work a man can do, no matter how engaging his personality may be, he will not advance far in business if he cannot work through others.

A person who, because he has corns himself, always treads on other people's toes.

Perfection is always infinite.