The Erotic (n.) is not a species of loving the beautiful but sui generis: the lover who says "I love beautiful landscapes and my Lalage and a beautiful horse" will not please Lalage.
The Erotic (n.) as a life needs enthusiasm enough to idealize, taste enough to clink glasses, sense enough to break off as absolutely as death, and madness enough to want to enjoy again.
The Erotic (n.) as the seducer lives it dines constantly upon bait — and is never caught; other men eat bait as the vulgar eat caviar, and are caught.
The Erotic (n.) ought to have infinitude, but a poet's infinitude — one that fits as easily into an hour as into a month.
The Erotic (n.) is the comic, in the highest pagan expression: spirit, having conquered, sees the sexual as foreign and laughable.
The Erotic (n.) always carries anxiety in its enjoyment — not because it is sinful, and even if the minister blesses the couple ten times.