Thanks to my intrepid editors: Aaron Asher and Jennifer Josephy. And thanks to the National Endowment for the Arts for a grant which helped.
And thanks to Betty Anne Clark, Anita Gross, Ruth Sullivan, Mimi Bailin, and Linda Bogin.
And thanks especially to the live-in muse who gave me a room of my own from the start.
Alas! the love of women! it is known To be a lovely and a fearful thing; For all of theirs upon that die is thrown, And if ’tis lost, life hath no more to bring To them but mockeries of the past alone, And their revenge is as the tiger’s spring, Deadly, and quick, and crushing; yet, as real Torture is theirs-what they inflict they feel. They are right; for man, to man so oft unjust, Is always so to women; one sole bond Awaits them-treachery is all their trust; Taught to conceal, their bursting hearts despond Over their idol, till some wealthier lust Buys them in marriage-and what rests beyond? A thankless husband-next, a faithless lover- Then dressing, nursing, praying-and all’s over. Some take a lover, some take drams or prayers, Some mind their household, others dissipation, Some run away, and but exchange their cares, Losing the advantage of a virtuous station; Few changes e’er can better their affairs, Theirs being an unnatural situation, From the dull palace to the dirty hovel: Some play the devil, and then write a novel. – Lord Byron (from Don Juan)
