Love Makes Use Of The Worst Traps.

Ah Those Knock-out Body Fluids: Blood, Sperm, Tears!

She Was Happy, And Perfectly In Line With The Tradition Of Those Women They Used To Call "ruined," "fallen," Feckless, Bitches In Heat, Ravished Dolls, Sweet Sluts, Instant Princesses, Hot Numbers, Great Lays, Succulent Morsels, Everybody's Darlings . . .

Excluded By My Birth And Tastes From The Social Order, I Was Not Aware Of Its Diversity. Nothing In The World Was Irrelevant: The Stars On A General's Sleeve, The Stock-market Quotations, The Olive Harvest, The Style Of The Judiciary, The Wheat Exchange, Flower-beds. Nothing. This Order, Fearful And Feared, Whose Details Were All Inter-related, Had A Meaning: My Exile.

By Stretching Language We'll Distort It Sufficiently To Wrap Ourselves In It And Hide.

Worse Than Not Realizing The Dreams Of Your Youth, Would Be To Have Been Young And Never Dreamed At All.