Sensuality (n.) was brought into the world by Christianity — by the very act that excluded it; what spirit shuts out becomes a principle in the moment of its exclusion.
Sensuality (n.) was not, among the Greeks, an enemy to subdue but was liberated unto life and joy in the beautiful personality — harmony, not opposition.
Sensuality (n.) is absolutely lyrical: force, life, constant unrest — yet its restless succession never enriches it; it storms forward as if in a single breath. In a word: it sounds.
Sensuality (n.) is by its concept absolutely faithless in love: it loves not one but all, exists only in the moment — and the moment is the sum of moments.
Sensuality (n.) is the momentary; the more refined it grows, the better it can make an instant of pleasure into a little eternity.
Sensuality (n.) is not sinful in itself; it becomes sinfulness each time sin comes into the world — and what it becomes is not what it first was.
Sensuality (n.) is not sinfulness but an unexplained riddle that causes anxiety — the inexplicable nothing beneath Greek naiveté.
Sensuality (n.) posited by sin as sinfulness sinks lower than the beast's — and that is because here the higher begins.
Sensuality (n.) hears death and says let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die: a cowardly lust for life that lives to eat instead of eating to live.