Murder is born of love, and love attains the greatest intensity in murder.

Nature’s constantly screaming with all its shapes and scents: love each other! Love each other! Do as the flowers. There’s only love.

The universe appears to me like an immense, inexorable torture-garden…Passions, greed, hatred, and lies; social institutions, justice, love, glory, heroism, and religion: these are its monstrous flowers and its hideous instruments of eternal human suffering.

Sheep run to the slaughterhouse, silent and hopeless, but at least sheep never vote for the butcher who kills them or the people who devour them. More beastly than any beast, more sheepish than any sheep, the voter names his own executioner and chooses his own devourer, and for this precious "right" a revolution was fought.

When one tears away the veils and shows them naked, people's souls give off such a pungent smell of decay.

Why, flowers are violent, cruel, terrible and splendid... like love!

Come now, don't make such a funeral face. It isn't dying that's sad; it's living when you're not happy.