Between living and dreaming there is a third thing. Guess it.
Hell is the bloodcurdling mansion of time, in whose profoundest circle Satan himself waits, winding a gargantuan watch in his hand.
Man's passion for truth is such that he will welcome the bitterest of all postulates so long as it strikes him as true.
There is no road, the road is made by walking.
The absence of vices adds so little to the sum of one's virtues.
The truly erotic sensibility, in evoking the image of woman, never omits to clothe it. The robing and disrobing: that is the true traffic of love.