Betrayal is beautiful.

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

Poetry is the break (or rather the meeting at the breaking point) between the visible and the invisible.

Anyone who hasn't experienced the ecstasy of betrayal knows nothing about ecstasy at all.

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

Erotic play discloses a nameless world which is revealed by the nocturnal language of lovers. Such language is not written down. It is whispered into the ear at night in a hoarse voice. At dawn it is forgotten.

Power may be at the end of a gun, but sometimes it's also at the end of the shadow or the image of a gun.