After a moment of shrinking back, we domesticate the grotesque.
I am often attracted to people with whom I could not hold a five minute conversation.
The eros of advertising is lurid but not specific.
Theory now: concern for truth must not hobble our discussion.
For some, bottles of liquor gleam like the towers of Eldorado.
Drunks conjure an endless drama from their bottles.
Every perversion has survived many tests of its capabilities.
Perversity depends on reversal and substitution.
Imprudence relies on luck, prudence on method. That gives prudence less edge than it expects.
There is a line between a definite maybe and an indefinite yes.
The theme of my autobiography could only be repetition.
The New Right: kiss the bankers and spank the babies.
Disobedient parents are a great trouble to their children.
Our vices are attempts to combine self-medication and enjoyment.
Respectability is joining chastity in the museum of dead issues.
Pedagogical romances leave the mentor disgruntled, the pupil confused.
Smooth white skin invites something that will leave a trace, a kiss or a slap.
Self-pity dries up our sympathy for others.
Self-pity makes people callous.
I answered my father's demands for sympathy with silence.
No one could be the way I remember my father.
Disillusionment is not truth.
The lover as baby is a less troubling idea than the baby as lover.
Enough is ever-receding.
My aspiration now is to get by luck what I could not get by merit.
