The act of procreation and anything that has any relation to it is so disgusting that human beings would soon die out if there were no pretty faces and sensuous dispositions.

Humans in love are terrible. You see them come hungering at one another like prehistoric wolves, you see something struggling for life in between them like a root or a soul and it flares for a moment, then they smash it. The difference between them smashes the bones out. So delicate the bones.

The sexual act of coitus and the body parts employed for it are so repulsive that, if it were not for the beauty of the faces and the adornment of the actors and the pent-up impulse, nature would lose the human species.

Love is a fire/It burns everyone/It disfigures everyone/It is the world's excuse for being ugly.

What is this life but the sound of an appalling love.

Much has been written of love turning to hatred, of the heart growing cold with the death of love. It is a remarkable process. It is far more terrible than anything I have ever read about it, more terrible than anything I will ever be able to say.

love is blind
and lovers cannot see
the pretty follies
that themselves commit

People talk about love like it is patient and kind. Love is also dark. It is ferocious and angry and destructive.

In love as as in speculation there is much filth; in love also, people think only of their own gratification; yet without love there would be no life, and the world would come to an end.

It is jealousy, possessiveness, hatred, anger, violence; it is a thousand and one things except love. It masquerades as love — because all these things are so ugly they cannot exist without a mask.

The word 'love,' used in connection with the reproduction of our species, is the most odious blasphemy taught in our times.

Love is a sort of insanity.

"Ah!" he said. "Love, that terrible thing!"

Love is easily killed.