"... There is no love in what I do. Love is a sentiment which was ever a stranger to my heart. I make use of a woman out of necessity, just as a man might use a pisspot for another kind of need. But I never bestow upon her, subject as she is to my money and my authority, either esteem or affection and, owing what I take solely to my own efforts and requiring nothing from her but submission, I fail to see why, given all this, I should have to show her gratitude... The same holds true for a violence performed upon a woman: it may entitle a man to repeat the violation but can never be an adequate reason why he should grant her any form of compensation."
So saying, Dalville, having taken his pleasure, quitted me abruptly and left me deep in further thoughts which, as you might imagine, were not to his credit.
-De Sade, The Misfortunes of Virtue
Will you marry it?
It is guaranteed to thumb shut your eyes at the end
And dissolve of sorrow.
We make new stock from the salt.
-Sylvia Plath, The Applicant
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