The Notion Of A Universality Of Human

Reading A Book Is Like Re-writing It For Yourself.

Sade Has A Curious Ability To Render Every Aspect Of Sexuality Suspect, So That We See How The Chaste Kiss Of The Sentimental Lover Differs Only In Degree From The Vampirish Love-bite That Draws Blood, We Understand That A Disinterested Caress Is Only Quantitatively Different From A Disinterested Flogging.

We Do Not Go To Bed In Single Pairs; Even If We Choose Not To Refer To Them, We Still Drag There With Us The Cultural Impedimenta Of Our Social Class, Our Parents' Lives, Our Bank Balances, Our Sexual And Emotional Expectations, Our Whole Biographies-all The Bits And Pieces Of Our Unique Existences.

At The Best Of Times, Spring Hurts Depressives.

I Drew The Curtains To Conceal The Sight Of My Father's Farewell; My Spite Was Sharp As Broken Glass.