Your life is a Fellini film, lacking only Anita Ekberg with a cat on her head.

Feminism has become a catch-all vegetable drawer where bunches of clingy sob sisters can store their moldy neuroses.

Sex is the point of contact between man and nature, where morality and good intentions fall to primitive urges.

The female body is a chthonian machine, indifferent to the spirit who inhabits it.

As a scholar who regularly surveys archival material, I think that, a century from now, cultural historians will find David Horowitz's spiritual and political odyssey paradigmatic for our time.

We should teach general ethics to both men and women, but sexual relationships themselves must not be policed. Sex, like the city streets, would be risk-free only in totalitarian regimes.

Last time I checked, there were no Americans at all in Renaissance art.