There is a striking resemblance between the act of love and the ministrations of a torturer.

[T]ea, that uniquely English meal, that unnecessary collation at which no stimulants--neither alcohol nor meat--are served, that comforting repast of which to partake is as good as second childhood.

Midnight, and the clock strikes. It is Christmas Day, the werewolves birthday, the door of the solstice still wide enough open to let them all slink through.

Is not this world an illusion? And yet it fools everybody.

Some cities are women and must be loved; others are men and can only be admired or bargained with

Hollywood... was the place where the United States perpetrated itself as a universal dream and put the dream into mass production.

Women's sexy underwear is a minor but significant growth industry of late-twentieth-century Britain in the twilight of capitalism.