My taking a seat on the Council of the Fathers caused a desperate fluttering among my ghosts.
The language of pornography is abusive, that of romance adoring. Both are addressed to a fetish.
Nature knows no difference between weeds and flowers.
I pursue pleasure, but stingily, suspiciously.
City people make most of the fuss about the charms of country life.
Ironic and jittery, we are puzzled by the old heroes with their fighting, boasting, and cocksure lovemaking.