4
" I understood that the law of the world was strife; an inexorable, murderous law, which was not content with arming nation against nation but which hurled against one another the children of the same race, the same family, the same womb. I found none of the lofty abstractions of honor, justice, charity, patriotism of which our standard books are so full, on which we are brought up, with which we are lulled to sleep, through which they hypnotize us in order the better to deceive the kind little folk, to enslave them the more easily, to butcher them the more foully. "
― Octave Mirbeau
9
" After two years' absence she finally returned to chilly Europe, a trifle weary, a trifle sad, disgusted by our banal entertainments, our shrunken landscapes, our impoverished lovemaking. Her soul had remained over there, among the gigantic, poisonous flowers. She missed the mystery of old temples and the ardor of a sky blazing with fever, sensuality and death. The better to relive all these magnificent, raging memories, she became a recluse, spending entire days lying about on tiger skins, playing with those pretty Nepalese knives 'which dissipate one's dreams'. "
― Octave Mirbeau
11
" On ne se doute pas de tous les embêtements dont sont poursuivis les domestiques, ni de l’exploitation acharnée, éternelle qui pèse sur eux. Tantôt les maîtres, tantôt les placiers, tantôt les institutions charitables, sans compter les camarades, car il y en a de rudement salauds. Et personne ne s’intéresse à personne. Chacun vit, s’engraisse, s' amuse de la misère d' un plus pauvre que soi. Les scènes changent ; les décors se transforment ; vous traversez des milieux sociaux différents et ennemis ; et les passions restent les mêmes, les mêmes appétits demeurent. Dans l’appartement étriqué du bourgeois, ainsi que dans le fastueux hôtel du banquier, vous retrouvez des saletés pareilles, et vous vous heurtez à de l’inexorable. Enfin de compte, pour une fille comme je suis, le résultat est qu’elle soit vaincue d' avance, où qu' elle aille et quoi qu' elle fasse. Les pauvres sont l’engrais humain où poussent les moissons de vie, les moissons de joie que récoltent les riches, et dont ils mésusent si cruellement, contre nous... "
― Octave Mirbeau
20
" On the street, men appeared to me like mad ghosts, old skeletons out of joint, whose bones, badly strung together, were falling to the pavement with a strange noise. I saw the necks turning on top of broken spinal columns, hanging upon disjointed clavicles, arms sundered from the trunks, the trunks themselves losing their shape. And all these scraps of human bodies, stripped of their flesh by death, were rushing upon one another, forever spurred on by a homicidal fever, forever driven by pleasure, and they were fighting over foul carrion. "
― Octave Mirbeau
