[b]Paul Gauguin
Life being what it is, one dreams of revenge.[/b]
Blind or sighted, he figured.
Today one can dare anything, and, furthermore, nobody is surprised.
Let’s change that.
You first.
I plunged eagerly and passionately into the wilderness, as if in the hope of thus penetrating into the very heart of this Nature, powerful and maternal, there to blend with her living elements.
Or, sure, the wilderness we call the urban jungle.
The missionary is no longer a man, a conscience. He is a corpse, in the hands of a confraternity, without family, without love, without any of the sentiments that are dear to us. Emasculated, in a sense, by his vow of chastity, he offers us the distressing spectacle of a man deformed and impotent or engaged in a stupid and useless struggle with the sacred needs of the flesh, a struggle which, seven times out of ten, leads him to sodomy, the gallows, or prison.
Any missionaries here?
Come on, be honest.
Civilization is paralysis.
But only if you’re an optimist.
In Europe men and women have intercourse because they love each other. In the South Seas they love each other because they have had intercourse.
Who is right?
Both work for me.
Only neither ever has.