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I knew then it was I in the mirror, and none other. - (Dancer of Gor, Chapter 1, Sentence #103)

Surely only a terrible woman, a low woman, a shameful, wicked, worthless woman, a reproach to her entire sex, one with depths and needs antedating her century, one with needs not indexed to political orthodoxies, one with needs older and deeper, and more real and profound, more ancient and marvelous than those dictated to her by intellectual aberrations antithetical to biology, truth, history and time. I put my hand before my mouth, frightened. I stood there, regarding myself, then, shamed, and humbled and thrilled. I knew then it was I in the mirror, and none other. Perhaps what I saw was not a real woman in some invented, artificial, contemptible, grotesque modern sense, but I thought she was a woman nonetheless and one in some even more profound sense, so small, so soft and curved, and desiring, and vulnerable, and helpless and needful, a sense not indexed to criteria of economics and politics, not to the demands of platforms and parties, not to the likings of frustrates and freaks, but to something more profound, something deeper, to ancient, precious, biological womanhood, and its fundamental nature. If what faced me in the mirror was not a real woman in some contemporary, transient, idiosyncratic political sense, it was at least something biologically far deeper, and a thousand times more real, a true woman. And standing there I was suddenly very frightened, for I realized suddenly, the thought never before having struck me in just the same way, and with the same suddenly significant force, that there were two sexes, and that they were quite different. - (Dancer of Gor)