Women Have Decided To Be People, Which

The Happiest Moments In Any Affair Take Place After The Loved One Has Learned To Accommodate The Lover And Before The Maddening Personality Of Either Party Has Emerged Like A Jagged Rock From The Receding Tides Of Lust And Curiosity.

If You Don't Stay In Some Days, You Can't Recharge Your Batteries.

While I Have Very Little To Say In Favor Of Sex (it's Vastly Overrated, It's Frequently Unnecessary, And It's Messy), It Is Greatly To Be Preferred To The Interminable Torments Of Romantic Agony Through Which Two People Tear One Another Limb From Limb While Professing Altruistic Devotion.

I Have Known Female Whores Who Spoke Very Bitterly Of Their Calling. "if They Don't Like My Face, They Can Put A Cushion Over It. I Know It's Not That They're Interested In." But To The Boys This Profession Never Seemed Shameful. It Was Their Daytime Occupations For Which They Felt The Need To Apologize. In Some Instances, These Were Lower Class Or Humdrum Or, Worst Of All, Unfeminine. At Least Whoring Was Never That.

Every Day Someone Notices Me And Waves To Me, Or Stops And Speaks To Me, Or Asks Me For An Autograph, Or Photographs Me.