The Last WordBy G. Emily Ghods-Esfahani | Friday, January 12, 2007 One day men will look back and say I gave birth to the twentieth century. Never look at the trombones, it only encourages them. All Hindu traders are very fat and delicious to a lion. I hate small towns because once you’ve seen the cannon in the park there’s nothing else to do. There is no one who would have me—I can’t cook. She was what we used to call a suicide blond—dyed by her own hand. I don’t want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again. An intellectual is a person who’s found one thing that’s more interesting than sex. A little still she strove, and much repented, and whispering, “I will ne’er consent”—consented. It isn’t premarital sex if you have no intention of getting married. Clinton lied. A man might forget where he parks or where he lives, but he never forgets oral sex, no matter how bad it is. All lovers swear more performance than they are able. Brevity is the soul of lingerie. Impropriety is the soul of wit. Facts are the enemy of truth. She behaves as if she was beautiful. Most American women do. It is the secret of their charm. The first man to compare the cheeks of a young woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot. Shakespeare is the happy hunting ground of all minds that have lost their balance. Hamlet’s experience simply could not have happened to a plumber Any idiot can face a crisis—it’s day to day living that wears you out. Conscience is the inner voice that warns us somebody may be looking. I have dreamed in my life, dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they have gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind. Death destroys a man: the idea of Death saves him. I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death; I am not on his pay-roll. Of course God is endlessly multi-dimensional so every religion that exists on earth represents some face, some side of God. The true pleasure of life is to live with your inferiors. A professor is someone who talks in someone else’s sleep. Writing is like prostitution. First you do it for love, and then for a few close friends, and then for money. I believe that I am in hell, therefore I am there. I call architecture frozen music. Someone asked me once: “How are you?” The answer was, “Fine. If you don’t ask for details.” He who laughs has not yet heard the bad news. Fashion is the science of appearance, and it inspires one with the desire to seem rather than to be. |
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