Women Love Only Those Whom They Do

I Love Enemies, Though Not In The Christian Way. They Amuse Me, Excite My Blood. Being Always On One’s Guard, Catching Every Glance, The Significance Of Every Word, Guessing At Intentions, Frustrating Their Plots, Pretending To Be Tricked, And Suddenly, With A Shove, Upturning The Whole Enormous And Arduously Built Edifice Of Their Cunning And Schemes—that’s What I Call Life.

Anyone Who Has Chanced Like Me To Roam Through Desolate Mountains And Studied At Length Their Fantastic Shapes And Drunk The Invigorating Air Of Their Valleys Can Understand Why I Wish To Describe And Depict These Magic Scenes For Others.

Evil Spawns Evil. The First Experience Of Torture Gives An Understanding Of The Pleasure In Tormenting Others.

Women Only Love Those That They Don’t Know.

When We Retire From The Conventions Of Society And Draw Close To Nature, We Involuntarily Become Children: Each Attribute Acquired By Experience Falls Away From The Soul, Which Becomes Anew Such As It Was Once And Will Surely Be Again.