Sadness Is The Matrix From Which Wit

Gillard Is As Likeable As Rudd Is Charmless. She Is Self-deprecating; He Is Ludicrously Vainglorious. She Is A Mistress Of Understatement; He Is A Ranter.

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.

What We Ought To See In The Agonies Of Puberty Is The Result Of The Conditioning That Maims The Female Personality In Creating The Feminine.

I Grew Up Thinking There Was One Unpardonable Sin – To Be Boring.

We Live In A True Chaos Of Contradicting Authorities, An Age Of Conformism Without Community, Of Proximity Without Communication.