Thus, in pornographic novels, action has to be limited to the copulation of clichés.

All the information I have about myself is from forged documents.

There are aphorisms that, like airplanes, stay up only while they are in motion.

Complacency is a state of mind that exists only in retrospective: it has to be shattered before being ascertained.

I have the European urge to use my feet when a drive can be dispensed with.

The fire you rubbed left its brand on the most vulnerable, most vicious and tender point of my body. Now I have to pay for your rasping the red rash too strongly, too soon, as charred wood has to pay for burning. When I remain without your caresses, I lose all control of my nerves, nothing exists any more than the ecstasy of friction, the abiding effect of your sting, of your delicious poison.

...for the human brain can become the best torture house of all those it has invented, established and used in a millions of years, in millions of lands, on millions of howling creatures.