Among my greatest loves is the act of being pinned and invaded – not by one, or two or three, but by many, one after the other. What it is to lose yourself among many, so that your identity exists only as ‘woman’: a goddess of flesh and desire. No names, no promises, no social niceties, no conversational conventions: only lust and fulfillment.” Mademoiselle Noise - in The Gentlemen's Club

— Emmanuelle de Maupassant

And we, from within the sigh of the trees, and the soft moss underfoot, and the calling of night birds, watched him as he watched, gazing where he should not.

— Emmanuelle de Maupassant

An ‘husband should be plain enough to sit at his settle, and simple-minded enough to accept the stew on his plate, rather than looking round EV’Ry corner for a more succulent chop,’ declares Elsie.

— Emmanuelle de Maupassant

Drink the sun’s warmth and the moon’s icy glitter, and taste that which the dead and the yet-to-be-born cannot: the potency of this world.

— Emmanuelle de Maupassant

Forsaking all other thoughts, he rutted into her, in a fashion more animal than human. His eruption he held fast within, so that she squirmed against the sensation before accepting her own fall into oblivion, her walls pulsing to an echoing rhythm. From The Gentlemen's Club

— Emmanuelle de Maupassant

Girls barely budding open their legs to make a living, alongside the toothless and rancid of breath; hair thick with lice, they all find customers if the price is right, against the wall or on sheets well-soiled. Their holes cost but a shilling. Skins grow thick and claws sharp.

— Emmanuelle de Maupassant

Good and evil exist in all of us. A moment’s temptation takes us on a wrong path. On that path may lurk foul fiends, inhuman, yet feeding, needing all our weaknesses: vanity, indolence and envy, Easy fruits for evil appetites, our flesh, a tasty afterthought, our bones flung asunder.

— Emmanuelle de Maupassant

Ha!’ cackled the fiend, ‘I expect you’d like revenge on that husband of yours. Murder shouldn’t go unpunished, and no creature enjoys delivering chastisement as much as I. What about giving him a taste of his own medicine? If you’d be so kind as to lend me your body, I’ll set him dancing to my tune.’ The wife’s specter grimaced and nodded, at which the wicked Like stripped off the nightgown, then the dead woman’s pliant skin, peeling back the flaccid folds. These it left in a slack heap. It gobbled her flesh and sucked the bones clean. These it hid behind the stove, before inserting itself inside the empty, wrinkled carcass, taking the former position of the corpse. Its fat tongue swiped the last juices from around its lips. When the husband returned home, all was as it had been; there was not a speck of blood to be seen, although the strangest smell of rotten eggs lingered

— Emmanuelle de Maupassant

He is a man-beast, carnivore incarnate, motivated by carnal avarice and wearing only the mask of civility. She could sip from that cup. It is his presumption that deters her: his belief that he has already caught Maud in his paw.

— Emmanuelle de Maupassant

Here, at the edges, Whispering to you, And we’re not alone; not alone Here, in the dark. We are behind the door, in the corners, In the room where you’ve just extinguished the light. We flicker in the shadow you cast on the wall. We are the prickle on the back of your neck. Curled, in words unspoken, We are the shiver on your uneasy flesh, The creep of the unknown on your skin. Can you feel us? Here, at the edges. From the Foreword of Cautionary Tales - by Emmanuelle de Maupassant

— Emmanuelle de Maupassant