“When she's abandoned her moral center and teachings...when she's cast aside her facade of propriety and lady-like demeanor...when I have so corrupted this fragile thing and brought out a writhing, mewling, bucking, wanton whore for my enjoyment and pleasure.....enticing from within this feral lioness...growling and scratching and biting...taking everything I dish out to her.....at that moment she is never more beautiful to me. ”
In this quote, the Marquis de Sade expresses a twisted perception of beauty, one that is tied to corrupting and degrading a woman. He finds pleasure in breaking down a woman's moral center and transforming her into a "wanton whore." This reveals his sadistic nature and his belief that a woman's true beauty lies in her submission to his desires, rather than in her inherent qualities or character. It highlights the Marquis de Sade's warped understanding of beauty as something that is derived from domination and the degradation of others.
In today's society, the concept of liberation and empowerment for women has gained significant traction. However, there are still instances where individuals struggle to separate a woman's true beauty from objectifying and degrading notions. The quote by Marquis de Sade reflects a troubling mindset that views a woman's worth based on how she conforms to certain expectations or how she is dehumanized for the sake of pleasure. This serves as a reminder of the importance of respecting women as individuals with agency and autonomy, rather than reducing them to mere objects of desire.
The quote from Marquis de Sade captures the dark and twisted desires of a character reveling in the corruption of innocence and the unleashing of primal instincts. The speaker finds beauty in the complete abandonment of societal norms, relishing the transformation of a once genteel woman into a wild and untamed creature.
This quote from the Marquis de Sade is quite disturbing and raises questions about power dynamics, consent, and the objectification of women. It challenges our understanding of beauty and raises important ethical considerations.
“All i knew was that i couldn't get Echo Emerson out of my mind. No doubt, i wanted her. I couldn't rid my mind of images of her body writhing in pleasure against mine. That siren voice whispering my name. But she appealed to me in more than physical way. I loved her smile, the light in her eyes when she laughed, and damn if she couldn't keep up with me.”
“It was Miss Murdstone who was arrived, and a gloomy-looking lady she was...She brought with her, two uncompromising hard black boxes, with her initials on the lids in hard brass nails. When she paid the coachman she took her money out of a hard steel purse, and she kept the purse in a very jail of a bag which hung upon her arm by a heavy chain, and shut up like a bite. I had never, at that time, seen such a metallic lady altogether as Miss Murdstone was.”
“When my sister was released from the mental hospital, she came to live with me in the tilting and crumbling one-bedroom house I'd bought with the small amount of money I inherited when our parents died. She arrived one afternoon unannounced in a taxi. She must have known instinctively that I'd take her in. I don't know how or why they released her. Probably due to overcrowding, and they had her scratch her name on a form then pushed her out the door. Or maybe she just slipped away when no one was looking (who'd notice in a place like that?)--she never did tell me and I didn't ask her. I was so happy to have her with me again that the last thing I wanted to do was break the spell by letting reality intrude. Ever since they'd dragged her away weeping with laughter and reaching out for me with our parents' blood still coating her hands with shiny red gloves, I'd felt amputated, like they'd pulled her kicking and screaming and insane out of my guts.”
“I liked it when my mother tried to teach me things, when she paid attention. So often when I was with her, she was unreachable. Whenever she turned her steep focus to me, I felt the warmth that flowers must feel when they bloom through the snow, under the first concentrated rays of the sun.”
“When she spoke, the words were rote, taught to her by her captors, dead and empty, and forced. But her voice was rough, like silk torn by sharp diamonds, and I believed, truly, that she wanted nothing more than to disappear into the Tower and never emerge again. "Please, Saint Sigrid, take me in from the storm and teach me to steer through darkness, for I am lost, and I cannot see the shore." I did not move for a long moment. Then, slowly, I reached out my hand to her and whispered, "Come, Lady, I will cut your hair for you." Her hand slipped into mine, hard and cool.”