I have cultivated my hysteria with delight and terror. Now I suffer continually from vertigo, and today, 23rd of January, 1862, I have received a singular warning, I have felt the wind of the wing of madness pass over me.

It is easy to understand why the rabble dislike cats. A cat is beautiful; it suggests ideas of luxury, cleanliness, voluptuous pleasures.

In this horror of solitude, this need to lose his ego in exterior flesh, which man calls grandly the need for love.

For me, Romanticism is the most recent and the most current expression of beauty.

The immense appetite we have for biography comes from a deep-seated sense of equality.

There is a word, in a verb, something sacred which forbids us from using it recklessly. To handle a language cunningly is to practice a kind of evocative sorcery.

In our corruption we perceive beauties unrevealed to ancient times.