Sanity Is The Lot Of Those Who

Eroticism Cannot Be Entirely Revealed Without Poetry.

Inner Experience ... Is Not Easily Accessible And, Viewed From The Outside By Intelligence, It Would Even Be Necessary To See In It A Sum Of Distinct Operations, Some Intellectual, Others Aesthetic, Yet Others Moral. ... It Is Only From Within, Lived To The Point Of Terror, That It Appears To Unify That Which Discursive Thought Must Separate.

A Man Who Finds Himself Among Others Is Irritated Because He Does Not Know Why He Is Not One Of The Others. In Bed Next To A Girl He Loves, He Forgets That He Does Not Know Why He Is Himself Instead Of The Body He Touches. Without Knowing It, He Suffers From The Mental Darkness That Keeps Him From Screaming That He Himself Is The Girl Who Forgets His Presence While Shuddering In His Arms.

I Remain In Intolerable Non-knowledge, Which Has No Other Way Out Than Ecstasy Itself.

Sovereignty, Loyalty, And Solitude.