The truth is a tattoo on your forehead. You can’t see it yourself. I am your mirror.
The truth is always a surprise.
The vocation of each writer is to describe the world as he or she sees it; anything more than that is advertising.
The world’s full of people with unusual beliefs, Julia. Scientologists, Rastafarians, Catholics, Moonies, Mormons, Baptists, Tories, dentists, captains of industry—every madness has its cheerleader. T...
The writer, indeed every real artist, was the devil, rivalling God in creativity, trying even to surpass him. God was surely man’s most fatal creation, the devil’s kitsch bitch. It was God, with his i...
The master would always be the one who could wait without anxiety;
There’s a lot of degradation in sex, isn’t there?When it’s done right.
This was the English passion, not for self-improvement or culture or wit, but for DIY, Do It Yourself, for bigger and better houses with more mod cons, the painstaking accumulation of comfort and, wit...
Those magical fucks, when everything else falls away.
Tisina je, a tisina je glasan zvuk.
Transgression affirms the very rules it intends to flout. Nothing supports the norm like deviation.
Truth telling, therefore, has to be an ultimate value, until it clashes with another ultimate value, pleasure, at which point, to state the obvious, there is conflict.
We are surviving, in this pleasant liberal enclave where people read and speak freely, on borrowed time. But for those not inside - the dispossessed of the world, the poor, the refugees and those forc...
What was marriage but sex plus property.
What’s that?’ his wife said. She came closer. ‘It’s a penis,’ she said. ‘You’ve come home with a man’s penis – complete with balls and pubic hair – in your pocket. Where did you get it?
When Victor Hugo was buried, you couldn’t find a whore in all of Paris. They were too busy paying their respects. That was a man – and he still has a show on in the West End.
Who can think of Larkin now without considering his fondness for the buttocks of schoolgirls and paranoid hatred of blacks … Or Eric Gill’s copulations with more or less every member of his family, in...
Who doesn’t love cock?
Whoever thought that pleasure makes you happy?
Without love, most of life remains concealed. Nothing is as fascinating as love, unfortunately.
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