Young Girls Are Sad. They Like To

Cyclists. I Really Hate Them. I Wish They Would Not Be So Self-righteous And Realise They Are A Danger To Pedestrians. I Wish Cyclists Would Not Vindictively Snap Off Wing Mirrors On Cars When They Were Trying To Cross In Front Of The Car At A Danger To Motorists And Pedestrians.

It's Because I'm A Feminist That I Can't Stand Women Limiting Other Women's Imaginations. It Really Makes Me Angry.

Once Upon A Time, When Men And Women Hurtled Through The Air On Metal Wings, When They Wore Webbed Feet And Walked On The Bottom Of The Sea, Learning The Speech Of Whales And The Songs Of The Dolphins, When Pearly-fleshed And Jewelled Apparitions Of Texan Herdsmen And Houris Shimmered In The Dusk On Nicaraguan Hillsides, When Folk In Norway And Tasmania In Dead Of Winter Could Dream Of Fresh Strawberries, Dates, Guavas And Passion Fruits And Find Them Spread Next Morning On Their Tables, There Was A Woman Who Was Largely Irrelevant, And Therefore Happy.

Once You Get Older, People Stop Listening To What You Say. It's Very Agreeable Once You Get Used To It.

The Individual Appears For An Instant, Joins The Community Of Thought, Modifies It And Dies; But The Species, That Dies Not, Reaps The Fruit Of His Ephemeral Existence.