Quote with 21 notes
Hélène Lagonelle’s body is heavy, innocent still, her skin’s as soft as that of certain fruits, you almost can’t grasp her, she’s almost illusory, it’s too much. She makes you want to kill her, she conjures up a marvelous dream of putting her to death with your own hands. Those flour-white shapes, she bears them unknowingly, and offers them for hands to knead, for lips to eat, without holding them back, without any knowledge of them and without any knowledge of their fabulous power. I’d like to eat Hélène Lagonelle’s breasts as he eats mine in the room in the Chinese town where I go every night to increase my knowledge of God. I’d like to devour and be devoured by those flour-white breasts of hers.
I am worn out with desire for Hélène Lagonelle.
I am worn out with desire.
I want to take Hélène Lagonelle with me to where every evening, my eyes shut, I have imparted to me the pleasure that makes you cry out. I’d like to give Hélène Lagonelle to the man who does that to me, so he may do it in turn to her. I want it to happen in my presence, I want her to do it as I wish, I want her to give herself where I give myself. It’s via Hélène Lagonelle’s body, through it, that the ultimate pleasure would pass from him to me.
A pleasure unto death.
Quote with 594 notes
I am dead. I have no desire for you. My body no longer wants the one who doesn’t love.
We rehearse for the big death through the little death of orgasm, through erotic living. Death as transfiguration.
I know: she is the one that pleases you “to death” now, to death from pleasure. I know because I know all that you have lived. All that you live.
Laure in a letter to Georges Bataille, from Laure: the Collected Writings.
Poetry leads to the same place as all forms of eroticism—to the blending and fusion of separate objects. It leads us to eternity, it leads us to death, and through death to continuity. Poetry is eternity; the sun matched with the sea.
Quote with 26 notes
[L]ove smells like death.
Quote with 81 notes
Humanity is a petrified fiction hiding from zero, a purgatorial imprisonment of dissolution, but to be stricken with sanctity is to bask in death like a reptile in the sun. God is dead, but more importantly, God is Death. The beginning of the secret is that death is immense.
Quote with 59 notes
Laughter is a communion with the dead, since death is not the object of laughter: it is death itself that finds a voice when we laugh. Laughter is that which is lost to discourse, the haemorrhaging of pragmatics into excitation and filth.
Quote with 245 notes
Every consciousness pursues its own death, every love-passion its own end, attracted by a black hole, and all the black holes resonate together.
Quote with 56 notes
The man has a theory. The woman has hipbones. Here comes Death.
Is it the dead who belong to us, or we who belong to the dead?
Gilles Deleuze, Cinema 2: The Time-Image.
I equate love (bodies touching indecently) to the limitlessness of being – to nausea, to the sun, and to death.
Georges Bataille, from La Scissiparié, translation by Rowan G. Tepper
Quote with 33 notes
She wants to look beautiful after she is dead. She wants people to admire her. Never has there been a more beautiful dead child.
Quote with 23 notes
Now her room is almost dark. Only a distant street lamp glows faintly through the window. Now she no longer cares whether she dies “on foreign soil” or in her own garden. She steps onto the windowsill, holds herself fast to the cord of the shutter, and examines her shadowlike reflection in the mirror one last time. She finds herself lovely. A trace of regret lingers with her determination. “It’s over,” she says, quietly, and feels dead already, even before her feet leave the windowsill. She falls on her head and breaks her neck. Strangely contorted, her small body lies in the grass. The first one to find her is the dog. He sticks his head between her legs and begins licking her. When she does not move at all, he begins whimpering quietly and lies down beside her on the grass.
Quote with 167 notes
The human face is an empty force, a field of death.
Which means that the human face has not yet found its face, which means that the human face as it is still searching with two eyes, a nose, a mouth and two auricular cavities which correspond to the holes of orbits like the four openings of the burial vault of approaching death.
For the thousands and thousands of years in fact that the human face has been speaking and breathing one somehow has the impression that it has not yet started to say what it is and what it knows.
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