These, dear girl, are for you. They form this pleasant book. Now strip yourself and get a candle; lunge in front of a looking-glass and read and frig alternately. If you are grown up, a dog or a man to suck you saves labour—of any sort—and time. But I want you to swim in a perfect ocean of fuck as you read—and please God if we ever meet—what ho!
Aleister Crowley, Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden, Prologue