The Kind Of Power Mothers

There Is A Striking Resemblance Between The Act Of Love And The Ministrations Of A Torturer.

It Is, Perhaps, A Better Thing To Be Valued Only As An Object Of Passion Than Never To Be Valued At All.

Stars On Our Door, Stars In Our Eyes, Stars Exploding In The Bits Of Our Brains Where The Common Sense Should Have Been

One Beast And Only One Howls In The Woods By Night.

How Far Does A Pretence Of Feeling, Maintained With Absolute Conviction, Become Authentic?