Explore "Mad?" by Guy De Maupassant on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Am I mad or jealous? I know not which, but I suffer horribly. I committed a crime, it is true, a mad crime, but are not insane jealousy, passionate love, betrayed and lost, and the terrible pain I endure, enough to make anyone commit a crime, without actually being a criminal?
Oh! I have suffered, suffered continually, acutely, terribly. I have loved this woman to madness -- and yet, is it true? Did I love her? No, no! She owned me body and soul, I was, and am, her plaything, she ruled me by her smile, her look, the divine form of her body. I fight against the domination of her physical appearance, but the woman contained in that body, I despise, hate and execrate. I always have hated, despised and execrated her, for she is but an impure, perfidious, bestial, filthy creature, the woman of perdition, the treacherous sensual animal, in whom there is no soul; she is the human animal, even less than that, she is but a mass of soft flesh in which dwells infamy!