Quotes from Marquis de Sade


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Happiness is ideal, it is the work of the imagination.


The primary and most beautiful of Nature's qualities is motion, which agitates her at all times, but this motion is simply a perpetual consequence of crimes, she conserves it by means of crimes only.


Happiness lies neither in vice nor in virtue; but in the manner we appreciate the one and the other, and the choice we make pursuant to our individual organization.


All, all is theft, all is unceasing and rigorous competition in nature; the desire to make off with the substance of others is the foremost - the most legitimate - passion nature has bred into us and, without doubt, the most agreeable one.


All universal moral principles are idle fancies.


She had already allowed her delectable lover to pluck that flower which, so different from the rose to which it is nevertheless sometimes compared, has not the same faculty of being reborn each spring.


It is always by way of pain one arrives at pleasure.


Lust is to the other passions what the nervous fluid is to life; it supports them all, lends strength to them all ambition, cruelty, avarice, revenge, are all founded on lust.


Your body is the church where Nature asks to be reverenced.


In order to know virtue, we must first acquaint ourselves with vice.


There is no more lively sensation than that of pain; its impressions are certain and dependable, they never deceive as may those of the pleasure women perpetually feign and almost never experience.


'Sex' is as important as eating or drinking and we ought to allow the one appetite to be satisfied with as little restraint or false modesty as the other.


They declaim against the passions without bothering to think that it is from their flame philosophy lights its torch.


The more defects a man may have, the older he is, the less lovable, the more resounding his success.


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?


My manner of thinking, so you say, cannot be approved. Do you suppose I care? A poor fool indeed is he who adopts a manner of thinking for others!


Man's natural character is to imitate; that of the sensitive man is to resemble as closely as possible the person whom he loves. It is only by imitating the vices of others that I have earned my misfortunes.


To judge from the notions expounded by theologians, one must conclude that God created most men simply with a view to crowding hell.


I've already told you: the only way to a woman's heart is along the path of torment. I know none other as sure.


Truth titillates the imagination far less than fiction.