I like to write when I feel spiteful; it's like having a good sneeze.
Why were we driven out of Paradise? Why did we fall into this gnawing disease of unappeasable dissatisfaction? Not because we sinned. Ah, no. All the animals in Paradise enjoyed the sensual passion of coition. Not because we sinned. But because we got sex into our head.
Oh the innocent girl in her maiden teens knows perfectly well what everything means.
When love turns into dust, money becomes the substitution.
How beautiful maleness is, if it finds its right expression.
Tragedy is like strong acid - it dissolves away all but the very gold of truth.