Abstinence Is The Worst Form Of Perversion.

There Are Some Delightful Places In This World Which Have A Sensual Charm For The Eyes. One Loves Them With A Physical Love. We People Who Are Attracted By The Countryside Cherish Fond Memories Of Certain Springs, Certain Woods, Certain Ponds, Certain Hills, Which Have Become Familiar Sights And Can Touch Our Hearts Like Happy Events. Sometimes Indeed The Memory Goes Back Towards A Forest Glade, Or A Spot On A River Bank Or An Orchard In Blossom, Glimpsed Only Once On A Happy Day, But Preserved In Our Heart.

We Live Always Under The Weight Of The Old And Odious Customs... Of Our Barbarous Ancestors.

And Taking Her Friend’s Hand, She Put It On Her Breast, On That Firm Round Covering Of A Woman’s Heart Which The Male Often Finds So Satisfying That He Makes No Attempt To Find What Lies Beneath It.

There Are In France Some Fifty Thousand Young Men Of Good Birth And Fairly Well Off Who Are Encouraged To Live A Life Of Complete Idleness. They Must Either Cease To Exist Or Must Come To See That There Can Be No Happiness, No Health Even, Without Regular Daily Labor Of Some Sort... The Need Of Work Is In Me.

Breathing, Sleeping, Drinking, Eating, Working, Dreaming, Everything We Do Is Dying. To Live, In Fact, Is To Die.