.i“ * ^ / . . . . . ` `~

“Because to be bad, Mother, that is the real struggle: to be bad — and to enjoy it! That is what makes men of us boys, Mother. But what my conscience, so-called, has done to my sexuality, my spontaneity, my courage! Never mind some of the things I try so hard to get away with — because the fact remains, I don’t. I am marked like a road map from head to toe with my repressions. You can travel the length and breadth of my body over superhighways of shame and inhibition and fear. See, I am too good too, Mother, I too am moral to the bursting point — just like you!” (Portnoy’s Complaint.)

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