They Spent Their Time Doing Nothing... They

What We Need Is Hatred. From It Our Ideas Are Born.

Excluded By My Birth And Tastes From The Social Order, I Was Not Aware Of Its Diversity. Nothing In The World Was Irrelevant: The Stars On A General's Sleeve, The Stock-market Quotations, The Olive Harvest, The Style Of The Judiciary, The Wheat Exchange, Flower-beds. Nothing. This Order, Fearful And Feared, Whose Details Were All Inter-related, Had A Meaning: My Exile.

She Was Happy, And Perfectly In Line With The Tradition Of Those Women They Used To Call "ruined," "fallen," Feckless, Bitches In Heat, Ravished Dolls, Sweet Sluts, Instant Princesses, Hot Numbers, Great Lays, Succulent Morsels, Everybody's Darlings . . .

There Is A Close Relationship Between Flowers And Convicts. The Fragility And Delicacy Of The Former Are Of The Same Nature As The Brutal Insensitivity Of The Latter.

I Recognize In Thieves, Traitors And Murderers, In The Ruthless And The Cunning, A Deep Beauty - A Sunken Beauty.