The love of a man to another man manifests itself in a slightly different way, my dear. It is a refined curse, without question, but in no part as clamorous as your conflicts are. It is a burning yearning, an insatiable desire, a lasting torment, persistent, exciting - frantically. This is a kind of love one conceals with a manic solicitude, as a smuggler hides his gold, most carefully hidden from from the object of desire himself. A man will never give in to this whimsy of nature, never. The body is on fire in the presence of the beloved one, and even when he is not near you, you only need to lift your gaze from your meticulous work to see before you a flash of his smile, a line of his glance, one of his typical movements; you are trembling with tenderness, unquenchable lust; you are not ashamed of him, oh no. There is nothing ridiculous or repulsive in it, but it requires all of you. You may only want an innocent ebmbrace, but you want to hold in your arms and contain in them the whole body, the entire being of your friend. And that embrace must last forever, must lead to death. Male love is a negation of freedom; one wants to own another wholly, control his life, his mind, his feelings, renouncing everything that isn’t him. That is why a man’s spirit remains in endless struggle agains this frenzy; the strife of those two forces, two elements, is the inner essence of life. And never this struggle ceases, never you give up. You do not lose the respect for yourself and for him, therefore you are able to conceal your lust from him. In this case the want of owning someone is an insult to a free man; when we love a woman, we affront her without remorse, but a man we worship; therefore we avoid the slightest touch not to offend his inviolability even with this terrific shock that we feel because of a slightest touch, a shock he wouldn’t even sense. The symptoms of such love, Camille, are a tireless work, an effort constantly aflame with your inner struggle and, to your beloved one, a treatment ruthlessly, icily cold. So a behaviour of a nature entirely contrary to yours.
Maxime Robespierre to Cami (Camille Desmoulins) in Przybyszewska’s “The Last Nights of Ventôse”