I could not clearly distinguish what was passing in my head; it seemed to me that I was under the influence of a horrible dream and that I had but to awake to find myself cured; at times it seemed that my entire life had been a dream, ridiculous and childish, the falseness of which had just been disclosed.

Know that there is often hidden in us a dormant poet, always young and alive.

The only truth is love beyond reason.

The heart that once has been your shrine for other loves is too divine

Look at the sun! It’s dry, it’s dead, it needs a drink, it wants blood! And I’ll give it blood!

If love is a play, this play, as old as the world, fiasco or not, it is, all in all, the least bad thing that has so far been found. The roles are trite, I admit, but if the play had no value the whole universe wouldn’t know it by heart

Romanticism is the abuse of adjectives