They spent their time doing nothing... they let intimacy fuse them.

...beauty is the projection of ugliness and by developing certain monstrosities we obtain the purest ornaments.

Love makes use of the worst traps. The least noble. The rarest. It exploits coincidence.

She was happy, and perfectly in line with the tradition of those women they used to call "ruined," "fallen," feckless, bitches in heat, ravished dolls, sweet sluts, instant princesses, hot numbers, great lays, succulent morsels, everybody's darlings . . .

There is a close relationship between flowers and convicts. The fragility and delicacy of the former are of the same nature as the brutal insensitivity of the latter.

It's a true image, born of a false spectacle.

Ah those knock-out body fluids: blood, sperm, tears!