I never want to think or write about the topic again when I'm finished with it.

I believe "human sexuality" is one of the most ridiculous aspects of being a human, and here I was, facing publications whose prevailing editorial slant sought to portray our basic rutting instincts as something "ennobling" and "empowering," to depict women who were fundamentally whores and predominantly unstable as "sex workers" and "goddesses."

I certainly didn't emerge from prison regretting anything I ever wrote, nor did I feel remorse for my crime in the least.

You have to be careful because those feelings and bitterness can take over and consume in a bad way.

The idea that the reader is important enough to me that I'd tailor my words to either please or offend them always seems amusingly alien to me.

One of the greatest pleasures I get from my measly professional career is confusing people.

In contrast to how my father treated me, I won't hit him, I won't call him evil, I'll give him affection, and I'll pay attention to him.