Freud is the father of psychoanalysis. It had no mother.
Even crushed against his brother in the Tube the average Englishman pretends desperately that he is alone.
Women’s liberation, if it abolishes the patriarchal family, will abolish a necessary substructure of the authoritarian state, and once that withers away Marx will have come true willy-nilly, so let’s get on with it.
Older women can afford to agree that femininity is a charade, a matter of colored hair, ecru lace and whalebones, the kind of slap and tat that transvestites are in love with, and no more.
Status ought not to be measured by a woman’s ability to attract and snare a man.
As soon as we find ourselves working at being indispensable, rigging up a pattern of vulnerability in our loved ones, we know that our love has taken the socially sanctioned form of egotism.
War is the admission of defeat in the face of conflicting interests.
There is no such thing as security. There never has been.
Soccer is an art more central to our culture than anything the Arts Council deigns to recognize.
Because love has been so perverted, it has in many cases come to involve a measure of hatred.
Womanpower means the self determination of women, and that means all the baggage of paternalistic society will have to be thrown overboard.
Man is jealous because of his amour propre; woman is jealous because of her lack of it.
Love, love, love – all the wretched cant of it, masking egotism, lust, masochism, fantasy under a mythology of sentimental postures.
We still make love to organs and not people; that so far from realising that people are never more idiosyncratic, never more totally there when they make love, we re never more incommunicative, never more alone.
A full bosom is actually a millstone around a woman’s neck.
We can put women on Prozac and they will think they are happy, even though they are not. Disturbed animals in the zoo are given Prozac too, which rather suggests that misery is a response to unbearable circumstances rather than constitutional.
The most unpardonable privilege that men enjoy is their magnanimity.
No one goes to the toilet in novels. You’d think none of us had bladders.
Most people die in improvised circumstances of harassment and confusion, whether in hospital or out of it.
Consensus politics means that you cannot afford to give the many-headed beast, the public, anything to vote against, for voting against is what gargantuan pseudodemocracy has to come down to.