If I want to realize totality in my consciousness, I have to relate myself to an immense, ludicrous, and painful convulsion of all of humanity.

The emotional element which gives an obsessive value to communal existence is death.

Sacrifice is nothing other than the production of sacred things.

But a sort of rupture-in anguish-leaves us at the limit of tears: in such a case we lose ourselves, we forget ourselves and communicate with an elusive beyond.

You perhaps now know that desire reduces us to pulp.

What does physical eroticism signify if not a violation of the very being of its practitioners? – A violation bordering on death, bordering on murder?

Eroticism cannot be entirely revealed without poetry.