The possession of pleasure heralded by such desirable possession of figures is quickly reduced to the disarming possession of death. That is why the space of voluptuousness is the space of deception. Deception is the basis and final truth of life. Desire and love get mixed up. If it does not flee you, in fright must you flee love.
Lovers find each other on condition that they tear each other apart.
Both one and the other must have a thirst for suffering. For them must desire desire the impossible. If not, desire would go dormant, it would die. You always could go along with propriety, then revel in the esteem of the humiliated. It would be easy to value those sides of you by which you could work towards a falsification without bounds.