As an older person, I do feel an obligation to tell the story about what was really happening in the fifties, sixties, and seventies, as I saw it.

Let us go forth with fear and courage and rage to save the world.

People will sometimes say, "Why don't you write more politics?" And I have to explain to them that writing the lives of women IS politics.

Write what will stop your breath if you don’t write.

Today's wars are about oil. But alternate energies exist now - solar, wind - for every important energy-using activity in our lives. The only human work that cannot be done without oil is war.

Sometimes you find that what is most personal is also what connects you most strongly with others.

Sometimes, walking with a friend, I forget the world.

Women should stick together. Didn’t you learn anything yet?

All that is really necessary for survival of the fittest, it seems, is an interest in life, good, bad or peculiar.

Literature, fiction, poetry, whatever, makes justice in the world. That's why it almost always has to be on the side of the underdog.

I lived in a house in the East Bronx, a totally Jewish neighborhood on East 172nd Street. You didn't see Christians much, although one lived next door. We thought they were kind of a minority.

You can do nothing without prayer and everything with it. Anything worth worrying about is something worth praying about.

It's funny but... you're sort of a moving target for fortune and you never know when it will befall you.

He utters empty words he utters sound without mind.

There does not seem to be that collegiality I referred to, there seems to be much more of a them versus us attitude, rather than we all have a role to play in this process so let's get on with it.

I'm the man of the hour, the man with the power, too sweet to be sour.

Experience, like a pale musician, holds a dulcimer of patience in his hand.

Samsara is the world appearance, the cycle of rebirth, the physically manifest universes and states of mind that you perceive through the medium of ego.

He caressed my cheek. "You came for me," I whispered. "Always," he told me.

In our judgment of human transactions, the law of optics is reversed, we see most dimly the objects which are close around us.

And the rain was brain colored and the thunder sounded like something remembering something.