Story of O is a fairy tale for another world, a world where some part of me lived for a long time, a world that no longer exists except between the covers of a book.

Men are foolish to expect us to revere them, when, in the end, they amount to almost nothing.

The fact that he gave her was to him a proof, and ought to be one for her as well that she belonged to him: one can only give what belongs to you.

Woman ... is the divine object, violated, endlessly sacrificed yet always reborn, whose only joy, achieved through a subtle interplay of images, lies in contemplation of herself.

You have to get past the pleasure stage, until you reach the stage of tears.

A truly submissive woman is to be treasured, cherished and protected for it is only she who can give a man the gift of dominance.

Debauchery conceived of as a kind of ascetic experience is not new, either for men or for women, but until Story of O no woman to my knowledge had said it.