Moonlight, White Satin, Roses. A

My Mother Learned That She Was Carrying Me At About The Same Time The Second World War Was Declared; With The Family Talent For Magic Realism, She Once Told Me She Had Been To The Doctor's On The Very Day.

His Wedding Gift, Clasped Round My Throat. A Choker Of Rubies, Two Inches Wide, Like An Extraordinarily Precious Slit Throat.

Pornographers Are The Enemies Of Women Only Because Our Contemporary Ideology Of Pornography Does Not Encompass The Possibility Of Change, As If We Were The Slaves Of History And Not Its Makers. . . . Pornography Is A Satire On Human Pretensions.

It Is Far Easier For A Woman To Lead A Blameless Life Than It Is For A Man; All She Has To Do Is To Avoid Sexual Intercourse Like The Plague.

I Don't Really Think That Writers, Even Great Writers, Are Prophets, Or Sages, Or Messiah-like Figures; Writing Is A Lonely, Sedentary Occupation And A Touch Of Megalomania Can Be Comforting Around Five On A November Afternoon When You Haven't Seen Anybody All Day.