In A World Where Women Are Commodities,

A Book Is Simply The Container Of An Idea-like A Bottle; What Is Inside The Book Is What Matters.

Out Of The Frying Pan Into The Fire! What Is Marriage But Prostitution To One Man Instead Of Many? No Different!

Midnight, And The Clock Strikes. It Is Christmas Day, The Werewolves Birthday, The Door Of The Solstice Still Wide Enough Open To Let Them All Slink Through.

The Kind Of Power Mothers Have Is Enormous.

For All Cats Have This Particularity, Each And Every One, From The Meanest Alley Sneaker To The Proudest, Whitest She That Ever Graced A Pontiff's Pillow — We Have Our Smiles, As It Were, Painted On. Those Small, Cool, Quite Mona Lisa Smiles That Smile We Must, No Matter Whether It's Been Fun Or It's Been Not. So All Cats Have A Politician's Air; We Smile And Smile And So They Think We're Villains