At An Early Age I Sucked Up

Gentleness And Peacefulness Regulate Our Proceedings; Theirs Are Dictated By Fury. We Employ Reason, They Accumulate Faggots. They Preach Nothing But Love, And Breathe Nothing But Blood. Their Words Are Humane, But Their Hearts Are Cruel.

Only Passions, And Great Passions, Can Raise The Soul To Great Things. Without Them There Is No Sublimity, Either In Morals Or In Creativity. Art Returns To Infancy, And Virtue Becomes Small-minded.

There Are Cats And Cats.

There Comes A Moment During Which Almost Every Girl Or Boy Falls Into Melancholy; They Are Tormented By A Vague Inquietude Which Rests On Everything And Finds Nothing To Calm It. They Seek Solitude; They Weep; The Silence To Be Found In Cloister Attracts Them: The Image Of Peace That Seems To Reign In Religious Houses Seduces Them. They Mistake The First Manifestations Of A Developing Sexual Nature For The Voice Of God Calling Them To Himself; And It Is Precisely When Nature Is Inciting Them That They Embrace A Fashion Of Life Contrary To Nature's Wish.

To Attempt The Destruction Of Our Passions Is The Height Of Folly. What A Noble Aim Is That Of The Zealot Who Tortures Himself Like A Madman In Order To Desire Nothing, Love Nothing, Feel Nothing, And Who, If He Succeeded, Would End Up A Complete Monster!