Men Have Still Not Realized That Letting

Love, Love, Love – All The Wretched Cant Of It, Masking Egotism, Lust, Masochism, Fantasy Under A Mythology Of Sentimental Postures, A Welter Of Self-induced Miseries And Joys, Blinding And Masking The Essential Personalities In The Frozen Gestures Of Courtship, In The Kissing And The Dating And The Desire, The Compliments And The Quarrels Which Vivify Its Barrenness.

Women's Liberation, If It Abolishes The Patriarchal Family, Will Abolish A Necessary Substructure Of The Authoritarian State, And Once That Withers Away Marx Will Have Come True Willy-nilly, So Let's Get On With It.

At The Same Time As Woman Was Becoming The Showcase For Wealth And Caste, While Men Were Slipping Into Relative Anonymity And "handsome Is As Handsome Does," She Was Emerging As The Central Emblem Of Western Art.

Despite A Lifetime Of Service To The Cause Of Sexual Liberation, I Have Never Caught Venereal Disease, Which Makes Me Feel Rather Like An Arctic Explorer Who Has Never Had Frostbite.

A Woman Is Never So Happy As When She Is Being Wooed. Then She Is Mistress Of All She Surveys, The Cynosure Of All Eyes, Until That Day Of Days When She Sails Down The Aisle, A Vision In White, Lovely As The Stefanotis She Carries, Borne Translucent On Her Father's Manly Arm To Be Handed Over To Her New Father-surrogate. If She Is Clever, And If Her Husband Has The Time And The Resources, She Will Insist On Being Wooed All Her Life; More Likely She Will Discover That Marriage Is Not Romantic, That Husbands Forget Birthdays And Aniversaries And Seldom Pay Compliments, Are Often Perfunctory.