O seasons, O castles, What soul is without flaws? All its lore is known to me, Felicity, it enchants us all.

I saw that all beings are fated to happiness: action is not life, but a way of wasting some force, an enervation. Morality is the weakness of the brain.

In the great glasshouses streaming with condensation, the children in mourning-dress beheld marvels.

Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed.

The only unbearable thing is that nothing is unbearable.

...as for me, I am intact; and I don't care.

Morality is the weakness of the mind.