Eroticism is like a dance: one always leads the other.

In the sunset of dissolution, everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia, even the guillotine.

loves are like empires: when the idea they are founded on crumbles, they, too, fade away.

I cannot hate them because nothing binds me to them; I have nothing in common with them.

Most people willingly deceive themselves with a doubly false faith; they believe in eternal memory (of men, things, deeds, peoples) and in rectification (of deeds, errors, sins, injustice). Both are sham. The truth lies at the opposite end of the scale: everything will be forgotten and nothing will be rectified. All rectification (both vengeance and forgiveness) will be taken over by oblivion.

It was futile to attack with reason the stout wall of irrational feelings that, as is known, is the stuff of which the female mind is made.

Once her love had been publicized, it would gain weight, become a burden.