Most People Die In Improvised

No One Goes To The Toilet In Novels. You'd Think None Of Us Had Bladders.

Older Women Can Afford To Agree That Femininity Is A Charade, A Matter Of Colored Hair, Ecru Lace And Whalebones, The Kind Of Slap And Tat That Transvestites Are In Love With, And No More.

Man Made One Grave Mistake: In Answer To Vaguely Reformist And Humanitarian Agitation He Admitted Women To Politics And The Professions. The Conservatives Who Saw This As The Undermining Of Our Civilisation And The End Of The State And Marriage Were Right After All; It Is Time For The Demolition To Begin.

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.

Every Human Body Has Its Optimum Weight And Contour, Which Only Health And Efficiency Can Establish. Whenever We Treat Women's Bodies As Aesthetic Objects Without Function We Deform Them.