So much for the fruits of love. Love? What's love? Sex, ah, that's another thing. Love has babies: sex has abortions. — Fay Weldon Copy Share Image
Nowadays most people wear black most of the time anyway: go to a literary party and one would imagine everyone there was in perpetual… — Fay Weldon Copy Share Image
My experience of men in cars has always been that if you don't want them to do something, they will. It is when they… — Fay Weldon Copy Share Image
Letters crossing in the post, unfamiliar tunes heard three times in one day, the way that blows of fate descend upon the same bowed… — Fay Weldon Copy Share Image
One sort of believes in recycling. But one believes in it as a kind of palliative to the gods. — Fay Weldon Copy Share Image
“Truly, books are wonderful things; to sit alone in a room and laugh and cry, because you are reading, and still be safe when… — Fay Weldon Copy Share Image
“Not satisfied with what he's got? Is that it? That's husbands all over. Ungrateful pigs. You do everything for them, you bring up their kids, you cook their food, you wash their clothes, you warm their beds, you fuss over your face day after day so they'll fancy you, you wear yourself out to keep them happy and at the… — Fay Weldon Copy Share
The prophets of doom, in my experience, are generally ignored and usually right. — Fay Weldon Copy Share Image
“There is nothing, she would think, more delicious that the icing of bought chocolate cake, eaten in the silence and privacy of the night.” — Fay Weldon Copy Share Image
“A brave little woman,’ said the vicar. ‘So many of our women are now left alone.’ And so they were. Those who in peacetime… — Fay Weldon Copy Share Image
How has anyone ever understood anyone, except through love, which is wordless? — Fay Weldon Copy Share Image
