Mild brown eyes beckon me to the past, but memory provides no clue.
Memories contain hidden editorials on current events.
Too timid to talk back, I shot my adversary.
Fear regulates. Appetite impels.
If "there is no harm in asking," why guilt and fear when we do so?
Boredom and fear keep us working and obeying the laws.
After desolation, grief brings back our humanity.
Like love, grief fades in and out.
Fortuna likes to find a crowd and follow it.
Fortuna smiles and frowns according to a timetable surprising even to herself.
Rage against the world, if you like, but quietly, or the Guardians will awake.
Learned researches lead to headaches, constipation, and befuddled quarreling.
I know that I am very much like everybody else, but not really.
Everyone makes sexy sounds; relatively few, sexy sights.
Sex is not imaginary, but it is not quite real either.
Sign at the orgy: BODIES ONLY.
An illicit love affair seems sweetly old-fashioned in the age of one night stands and orgies.
Young girls giggle with nervous delight at the erections they inspire.
The popping of bubblegum discourages the most determined lecher.
Sexual attraction makes the strangest bedfellows of all.
To be sexy, nudes need a little underwear.
Blonds look angelic, but can (oh, happy!) be fleshy as well.
It is hard to speak of sex without being clinical, brutal, or romantic.
As a dream comes true, it falls flat.
Sexual attraction keeps throwing self-interest off course.
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