“God strung up his own son like a side of veal. I shudder to think what he would do to me.”

Oh, Satan! one and unique God of my soul, inspire thou in me something yet more, present further perversions to my smoking heart, and then shalt thou see how I shall plunge myself into them all!

Let us give ourselves indiscriminately to everything our passions suggest, and we will always be happy…

Sensual excess drives out pity in man.

What I should like to find is a crime the effects of which would be perpetual, even when I myself do not act, so that there would not be a single moment of my life even when I were asleep.

Variety, multiplicity are the two most powerful vehicles of lust.

Pregnancies are damaging to health, spoil the figure, wither the charms, and it’s the cloud of uncertainty forever hanging over these events that darkens a husband’s mood.

My manner of thinking, so you say, cannot be approved. Do you suppose I care?

If God permits virtue to be persecuted on earth, it is not for us to question his intentions. It may be that his rewards are held over for another life, for is it not true as written in Holy Scripture that the Lord chastenenth only the righteous! And after all, is not virtue it’s own reward?

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.

Destruction, hence, like creation, is one of Nature’s mandates.

Happiness is an abstraction, it is a product of the imagination, it is a way of being moved, which depends entirely on our way of seeing and feeling.

Why do you complain of your fate when you could so easily change it?

The degradation which characterizes the state into which you plunge him by punishing him pleases, amuses, and delights him.

You say that my way of thinking cannot be tolerated? What of it? The man who alters his way of thinking to suit othere is a fool.

What is more immoral than war?

So much nearer to Nature than civilized men are; absurd then to maintain cruelty is a consequence of depravity. . . .

Like a French poem is life; being only perfect in structure when with the masculine rhymes mingled the feminine are.

I love men and I like to get their attention.

Motor racing is like one big family, ultimately, and when you come back to it, that’s really what it feels like.

I know how to make it a great musical. I’ve got to. It’s like I’ve got to see it on stage.

If I say I like one person, that means everybody that voted for the other person doesn’t like me. So, why would I do that?

It seemed like whenever I got a bona fide offer from Ferrari, I couldn’t do it. And vice versa – when I was ready, their seats were taken.

We all wanted to be like him.

There is no aphrodisiac like innocence.