Destruction, Hence, Like Creation, Is

Lust's Passion Will Be Served; It Demands, It Militates, It Tyrannizes.

One Must Feel Sorry For Those Who Have Strange Tastes, But Never Insult Them. Their Wrong Is Nature's Too; They Are No More Responsible For Having Come Into The World With Tendencies Unlike Ours Than Are We For Being Born Bandy-legged Or Well-proportioned.

Are Wars Anything But The Means Whereby A Nation Is Nourished, Whereby It Is Strengthened, Whereby It Is Buttressed?

Nature Has Not Got Two Voices, You Know, One Of Them Condemning All Day What The Other Commands.

The Imagination Is The Spur Of Delights... All Depends Upon It, It Is The Mainspring Of Everything; Now, Is It Not By Means Of The Imagination One Knows Joy? Is It Not Of The Imagination That The Sharpest Pleasures Arise?