Desolate--Life is so dreary and desolate-- Women and men in the crowd meet and mingle, Yet with itself every soul standeth single, Deep out of sympathy moaning its moan-- Holding and having its brief exultation-- Making its lonesome and low lamentation-- Fighting its terrible conflicts alone.
There are two kinds of men. There are men who are f**king misogynist pigs and then there are men who really love women, who think they’re the most amazing people in the world. And that’s me. Maybe the reason I was promiscuous and wanted to sleep with a lot of them, is that I love them so much.