Woman ... is the divine object, violated, endlessly sacrificed yet always reborn, whose only joy, achieved through a subtle interplay of images, lies in contemplation of herself.

A truly submissive woman is to be treasured, cherished and protected for it is only she who can give a man the gift of dominance.

O felt that her mouth was beautiful, since her lover condescended to thrust himself into it . . .

Lovers and mystics are familiar with this sense of grandeur, this taste of joy - in abandoning oneself to the will of others.

To love is to live on the precipice.

I think that submissiveness can [be] and is a formidable weapon, which women will use as long as it isn't taken from them.

Story of O is a fairy tale for another world, a world where some part of me lived for a long time, a world that no longer exists except between the covers of a book.

I wrote 'The story of O' alone, for Dominique Aury, to interest him, to please him, to occupy him. I wasn't young, nor particularly pretty. I needed something which might interest a man like him.

You have to get past the pleasure stage, until you reach the stage of tears.

By my makeup and temperament I wasn't really prey to physical desires. Everything happened in my head.

Debauchery conceived of as a kind of ascetic experience is not new, either for men or for women, but until Story of O no woman to my knowledge had said it.

Enjoyment is not a goal it is a feeling that accompanies important ongoing activity.

Everything comes to an end, only objects are left to pine in the dark.

We will cut programs, we will try to rein in the size of the bureaucracy. We will bring federal pay scales that have become so exaggerated into line with market rates.

For every different role you play it's nice to have different challenges for each one.

We've come a long way, we've come a long way and we never even left L.A.

Certainly, no church should be involved in trying to set the affairs of the nation.

Pure devotional service fries the seeds of material inclinations in our heart.

I find myself daydreaming about him when I wake up in the morning, in school when something reminds me of him, and when I fall asleep at night

Instead of fighting your problems, picture your way out of them.

Consume my heart away, sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is, and gather me Into the artifice of eternity.