Totem poles and wooden masks no longer suggest tribal villages but fashionable drawing rooms in New York and Paris.
My thought has been shaped by books; my desires by pictures.
My regimen is lust and avarice for exercise, gluttony and sloth for relaxation.
The nudes of art are not so distant from pornography as prudish pedants pretend.
Politics inflame the passions in a way that few beloveds can match.
Fruitless striving breeds less despair than inaction.