For male and female alike, the bodies of the other sex are messages signaling what we must do - they are glowing signifiers of our own necessities.
Figure out where you're going before you go there: he was told that a long time ago.
Women, fire in their crotch, won't burn out, begin by fighting off pricks, end by going wild hunting for one that still works.
The fact that we still live well cannot ease the feeling that we no longer live nobly.
Without rain, there would be no life.
The muttered hint, "Remember, you have a stroke here," freezes my joints like a blast from Siberia.