Aren't Women Prudes If They Don't And

During Depression The World Disappears. Language Itself. One Has Nothing To Say. Nothing. No Small Talk, No Anecdotes. Nothing Can Be Risked On The Board Of Talk. Because The Inner Voice Is So Urgent In Its Own Discourse: How Shall I Live? How Shall I Manage The Future? Why Should I Go On?

Hell, I Don't Want To Grow Old At All. I Never Want To Die.

The Great Mass Of Women Throughout History Have Been Confined To The Cultural Level Of Animal Life In Providing The Male With Sexual Outlet And Exercising The Animal Functions Of Reproduction And Care Of The Young.

Monogamy And Prostitution Go Together.

A Revolution Is Not The Overturning Of A Cart, A Reshuffling In The Cards Of State. It Is A Process, A Swelling, A New Growth In The Race. If It Is Real, Not Simply A Trauma, It Is Another Ring In The Tree Of History, Layer Upon Layer Of Invisible Tissue Composing The Evidence Of A Circle.