small detail

“Children require a womb,” said Sutherland, “and a womb is connected to a vagina, and the thought of cooze makes you vomit. Such a small detail.

Andrew Holleran, Dancer From the Dance


a real crank

“It isn’t healthy, Daniel. You’re getting a reputation as a real crank. People are talking about you. My friends are always talking about you. People always ask me when you’re going to start dating again. Just go out with us tonight.”

— Lord Malinov, Journals of Lord Malinov

her fiery slit

“Her eyes wide with ecstasy, I watched in delight as she enjoyed the fuck out of the ravaging multi-fuck. I love pleasing my woman. Nothing spells pleasure like getting some friends to help out with the effort. I waited my turn, crank in hand, until I took the opportunity to slip inside her fiery slit. Her orgasms came in waves, endless crashing waves.”

— Lord Malinov, Journals of Lord Malinov

the accompts of evil

And, secondly, I pity not, because
He had no business to commit a sin,
Forbid by heavenly, fined by human laws,
At least ‘t was rather early to begin;
But at sixteen the conscience rarely gnaws
So much as when we call our old debts in
At sixty years, and draw the accompts of evil,
And find a deuced balance with the devil.

Lord Byron, Don Juan

consider the applause

“To me it is a matter of indifference whether the public goes frantic or listens quietly and reflectively, for I give out only what I have undertaken to. If I have put my individuality, my powers, my love for the work, into a rôle or a song that is applauded by the public, I decline all thanks for it to myself personally, and consider the applause as belonging to the master whose work I am interpreting. If I have succeeded in making him intelligible to the public, the reward therefor is contained in that fact itself, and I ask for nothing more.”

— Lilli Lehmann, How to Sing

Adulterers don’t sing

Relationships like explosives need an intelligent, delicate touch. Adulterers don’t sing, typically unless the rendezvous is far from home, preferring to huddle in dark corners hidden from prying curious eyes. They don’t think we notice, although we don’t care, we always know their obligations. So do I. Adults too old to cuddle in public, holding hands for more than ten seconds, stealing kisses, betraying the thing going on, primmed and propered, doing the nines, staring intently into love soaked eyes, being extra careful in case someone with a gun or a camera should take an interest in the domestic crime, Jones lying in wait in the dark booth swilling down booze.

David Cain, Song of Songs