Censorship Is Not An Occupation That Attracts

Yet What Happened In Fact? In The Middle Of The Night John Woke Up And Saw Me Sleeping Beside Him With No Doubt A Look Of Peace On My Face, Even Of Bliss, Bliss Is Not Unattainable In This World. He Saw Me—saw Me As I Was At That Moment—took Fright, Hurriedly Strapped The Armour Back Over His Heart, This Time With Chains And A Double Padlock, And Stole Out Into The Darkness.

Pleasure Is Hard To Come By, But Pain Is Everywhere These Days, I Must Learn To Subsist On It.

There Is Nothing More Humanly Beautiful Than A Woman's Breasts. Nothing More Humanly Beautiful, Nothing More Humanly Mysterious Than Why Men Should Want To Caress, Over And Over Again, With Paintbrush Or Chisel Or Hand, These Oddly Curved Fatty Sacs, And Nothing More Humanly Endearing Than Our Complicity (i Mean The Complicity Of Women) In Their Obsession.

His Mouth Opens. From Inside Him Comes A Slow Stream, Without Breath, Without Interruption. It Flows Up Through His Body And Out Upon Me; It Passes Through The Cabin, Through The Wreck; Washing The Cliffs And Shores Of The Island, It Runs Northward And Southward To The Ends Of The Earth. Soft And Cold, Dark And Unending, It Beats Against My Eyelids, Against The Skin Of My Face.

Erasmus Dramatizes A Well-established Political Position: That Of The Fool Who Claims License To Criticize All And Sundry Without Reprisal, Since His Madness Defines Him As Not Fully A Person And Therefore Not A Political Being With Political Desires And Ambitions. The Praise Of Folly, Therefore Sketches The Possibility Of A Position For The Critic Of The Scene Of Political Rivalry, A Position Not Simply Impartial Between The Rivals But Also, By Self-definition, Off The Stage Of Rivalry Altogether.