Like all walls it was ambiguous, two faced. What was inside it and what was outside it depended upon which side you were on. - Ursula K. Le Guin

All they're trying to do is tell you what they're like, and what you're like — what's going on — what the weather is now, today, this moment, the rain, the sunlight, look! Open your eyes; listen, listen. That is what the novelists say. But they don't tell you what you will see and hear. All they can tell you is what they have seen and heard, in their time in this world, a third of it spent in sleep and dreaming, another third of it spent in telling lies. “The truth against the world!” — Yes. Certainly. Fiction writers, at least in their braver moments, do desire the truth: to know it, speak it, serve it.

Anyhow they’re always exceptions. But most women, their only relationship to a man is having. Either owning or being owned.

It is not human to be without shame and without desire.