A girl who travels won’t need a saviour

The onion is the truffle of the poor.

Feb. 1, 1965Storm late at night, heavy rain, a thunderous racket, the windows shaking. I heard my name called. A woman’s voice in hell pleading with me to join her.

When they're talking about me they're letting someone else rest.

I do not believe the accusations against my husband, not for one second.

The electron, as it leaves the atom, crystallises out of Schrodinger's mist like a genie emerging from his bottle.

Determination is power. If the prospect be dark, kindle up the fire of resolution that nothing but death can extinguish.

You look at our borders, they're like swiss cheese, everybody pours in.

What is new about Barthes's posthumous reputation is the view of him as a writer whose books of criticism and personal musings must be admired as serious and beautiful works of the imagination.

Fischer does not merely outplay opponents; he leaves them bodily and mentally glutted. Fisher himself speaks of the exultant instant in which he feels the 'ego of the other player crumbling.'

Survival, I know, is to begin again.