Sad is his lot, who, once at least in his life, has not been a poet.
It is admirable to die the victim of one's faith; it is sad to die the dupe of one's ambition.
After his blood, that which a man can next give out of himself is a tear.
Life is too short to spare an hour of it in the indulgence of this evil passion.
God - but a word invoked to explain the world.
It is because of the servility of photography that I am fundamentally contemptuous of this chance invention which will never be an art but which plagiarizes nature by means of optics. (1848)