Sex Is A Momentary Itch, Love Never

I Am Always Incorrigibly Interested In The Behaviour Of The 'human Animal', And Look Forward To Perusing Divers Effusions Of Your Lively Pen.

When That Ineffable Compound Of Depression, Sadness (these Two Are Not The Same), Anxiety, Self-hatred, Sense Of Failure And Fear For The Future Begins To Steal Over You, Start Telling Yourself That What You Have Is A Hangover. You Are Not Sickening For Anything, You Have Not Suffered A Minor Brain Lesion, You Are Not All That Bad At Your Job, Your Family And Friends Are Not Leagued In A Conspiracy Of Barely Maintained Silence About What A S**t You Are, You Have Not Come At Last To See Life As It Really Is And There Is No Use Crying Over Spilt Milk.

A Blonde Girl Wearing A Man's Shirt But In All Other Visible Respects Unmanly To The Point Of Outright Effeminacy.

Consciousness Was Upon Him Before He Could Get Out Of The Way.

Feeling A Tremendous Rakehell, And Not Liking Myself Much For It, And Feeling Rather A Good Chap For Not Liking Myself Much For It, And Not Liking Myself At All For Feeling Rather A Good Chap.