The neuroses parody the virtues.
Writing is a refuge from unhappiness, but has its own sorrows.
The little suckings and smackings of the perversions are the sounds of joyous infancy.
Nobody knows the trouble I've seen: even less, the trouble I've successfully avoided.
As desire recedes, the world becomes clear, pale, and empty.
Free competition exists inside shelters of law, custom, insurance, political approval, and carefully protected status.