What is love? The need of coming out of one's self.
The lover of life makes the whole world into his family, just as the lover of the fair sex creates his from all the lovely women he has found, from those that could be found, and those who are impossible to find.
In this horror of solitude, this need to lose his ego in exterior flesh, which man calls grandly the need for love.
Unable to do away with love, the Church found a way to decontaminate it by creating marriage.
The act of love strongly resembles torture or surgery.
It is unfortunately very true that, without leisure and money, love can be no more than an orgy of the common man. Instead of being a sudden impulse full of ardor and reverie, it becomes a distastefully utilitarian affair.
Love is a taste for prostitution. In fact, there is no noble pleasure that cannot be reduced to Prostitution.
Love is the natural occupation of the man of leisure.
What I say is that the supreme and singular joy of making love resides in the certainty of doing evil.
Beware of all the paradoxical in love. It is simplicity which saves, it is simplicity which brings happiness...Love should be love.
I love the clouds... the clouds that pass by... over there... over there... those lovely clouds!
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