It’s all one, everything is equally good.
Whether you embrace a woman or make a poem, it’s the same.
So long as the main thing is there–
— the love, the burning, the emotion ..
it doesn’t matter whether you are a monk on Mount Athos or a man about town in Paris.”
“Dirty words need less
reciprocation than caresses do
(and are) always more stereotyped,
and perhaps some of their power derives from the very fact that they belong to the most immutable inheritance.
So, in the end, even words–
which should help to
distinguish us from each other–
— serve to fuse us all together,
and to accelerate the annihilation of the senses that we are all trying to achieve in these moments.”
“Often, we melt into our ecstasies as though they were jams, as though we were sinking into syrupy bowls of gooseberries, of raspberries, of bilberries.
She let herself melt into her furniture and her things. Why expend her love elsewhere when they loved her all the time, when they were waiting for her?
The world is a heavy burden, and yet we carry it. As soon as we are back in our burrows, whether joyful or discontented, we close the door upon it, we turn our backs upon it.
The fidelity of our things is only an expression of our own infidelity.”