Tilly was downcast; as with all perfectionists, it was the detail others might not notice that destroyed for her the pleasure of achievement.

What is my joy if all hands, even the unclean, can reach into it? What is my wisdom, if even the fools can dictate to me? What is my freedom, if all creatures, even the botched and impotent, are my masters? What is my life, if I am but to bow, to agree, and to obey?

The pleasure isn't in owning the person. The pleasure is this. Having another contender in the room with you.

Until I was six years old we lived in the projects, then my two brothers and three sisters and I moved to a three-bed that my mother&#39;s father built.

Written By David Johansen

About us

Featured posts

Featured Topics

Quick Links