Very few people realise that sex is a psychic and not a physical act. The clumsy coupling of human beings is simply a biological paraphrase of this truth - a primitive method of introducing minds to each other, engaging them. But most people are stuck in the physical aspect, unaware of the poetic rapport which it so clumsily tries to teach.

You see, nothing matters except pleasure - which is the opposite of happiness, its tragic part, I expect.

Prohibitions create the desire they were intended to cure.

There is no pain compared to that of loving a woman who makes her body accessible to one and yet who is incapable of delivering her true self -- because she does not know where to find it.

The appalling thing is the degree of charity women are capable of. You see it all the time... love lavished on absolute fools. Love's a charity ward, you know.

Sorrow is implicit in love as gravitation is implicit in mass.

Life, the raw material, is only lived in potentia until the artist deploys it in his work.