A fact, it seems to me, is a great thing – a sentence printed, if not by God, then at least by the devil.
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Can an ars erotica be an epic or heroic art? Would it be but a minor art — flower arranging of tropical orchids, after the swords have been melted into the transistor circuitry that is programming the final epidemic and the unending nuclear winter? Where is there the master that could tell?
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Alphonso Lingis | Foreign Bodies