Flowers have no time for sentiment

So small and fragile - a microcosm of nature, with all the beauty of its strength. It contains the world. Ah, frail and relentless organism heading for its realisation! Flowers have no time for sentiment, milady. They make love, nothing but love... And they do it all the time and in every way they can. It's all they think about. And they're right. Perverse? Because they obey life's only need, which is love? But consider this! The flower is nothing but a sexual organ, milady. Is anything healthier, stronger and more beautiful than a sexual organ? There marvellous petals, these silks, these velvets, these soft, supple and caressing fabrics - they are curtains of the alcove, the drapperies of the nuptial chamber, the perfumed bed where sexes are united, where they pass their fleeting and immortal life enraptured with love. What an admirable example they set us!

The Torture Garden, Octave Mirabeau