something brand, shining, new; -- as soon as I saw them,
and the problem spielers and notoriety-hunters of both sexes,
beginning to hang round Australian Unionism, I knew it was doomed.
And so it was. The straight men were disgusted, or driven out.
There are women who hang on for the same reason that a girl
will sometimes go into the dock and swear an innocent man's life away.
But as soon as they see that the cause is dying, they drop it at once,
and wait for another. They come like bloody dingoes round a calf,
and only leave the bones. They're about as democratic as the crows.
And the rotten `sex-problem' sort of thing is the cause of it all;
it poisons weak minds -- and strong ones too sometimes.

"Why, you could make a problem out of Epsom salts. You might argue
as to why human beings want Epsom salts, and try to trace the causes
that led up to it. I don't like the taste of Epsom salts
-- it's nasty in the mouth -- but when I feel that way I take 'em,
and I feel better afterwards; and that's good enough for me.
We might argue that black is white, and white is black,
and neither of 'em is anything, and nothing is everything;
and a woman's a man and a man's a woman, and it's really the man
that has the youngsters, only we imagine it's the woman
because she imagines that she has all the pain and trouble,
and the doctor is under the impression that he's attending to her,
not the man, and the man thinks so too because he imagines he's walking
up and down outside, and slipping into the corner pub now and then
for a nip to keep his courage up, waiting, when it's his wife
that's doing that all the time; we might argue that it's all
force of imagination, and that imagination is an unknown force,
and that the unknown is nothing. But, when we've settled all that
to our own satisfaction, how much further ahead are we?