I love tackling, love it. Its better than sex.
Imagination, not invention, is the supreme master of art as of life.
The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.
Being a woman is a terribly difficult task, since it consists principally in dealing with men.
I don't like work. . . but I like what is in work - the chance to find yourself. Your own reality - for yourself, not for others - which no other man can ever know.
You must squeeze out of yourself every sensation, every thought, every image, - mercilessly, without reserve and without remorse: you must search the darkest corners of your heart, the most remote recesses of your brain, - you must search them for the image, for the glamour, for the right expression. And you must do it sincerely, at any cost: you must do it so that at the end of your day's work you should feel exhausted, emptied of every sensation and every thought, with a blank mind and an aching heart, with the notion that there is nothing, - nothing left in you.
If you don't make mistakes, you don't make anything.
I don't know if you've been in any inner-city schools, but it's pretty demoralizing. The kids come to class bright-eyed, enthusiastic - entering first grade really looking forward to school. By the fourth grade they're just completely turned off, and by the time they enter high school, they see little relationship between school and employment. It's bad enough you have incompetent teachers and schools that are poorly run, understaffed, and lack material resources. It's even worse when the kids themselves don't feel they have any stake in school.
Whether I'm at the hangar or at the airport or on an airplane, I get respect. And that's the best part of my day.
I'm pretty lucky. I don't get too many haters.
The disgraced Usurer Yankel D took the baby girl home that evening. . . He made a bed of crumpled newspaper in a deep baking pan and gently tucked it in the oven, so that she wouldn't be disturbed by the noise of the small falls outside. . . When he pulled her out to feed her or just hold her, her body was tattooed with the newsprint. . . Sometimes he would rock her to sleep in his arms, and read her left to right, and know everything he needed to know about the world. If it wasn't written on her, it wasn't important to him.