"Did not love, like Indian plants, need a special soil, a particular temperature? Sighs by moonlight, long embraces, tears flowing over yielded hands, all the fevers of the flesh and the languors of tenderness could not be separated from the balconies of great castles full of indolence, from boudoirs with silken curtains and thick carpets, well-filled flower stands, a bed on a raised dais, nor from the flashing of precious stones and the shoulder-knots of liveries."
— Gustave Flaubert (Madame Bovary)