I sit in the sky like a sphinx misunderstood; My heart of snow is wed to the whiteness of swans; I hate the movement that displaces the rigid lines, With lips untaught neither tears nor laughter do I know.

However incoherent a human existence may be, human unity is not bothered by it.

A sweetheart is a bottle of wine, a wife is a wine bottle.

Where are the dogs going? you people who pay so little attention ask. They are going about their business. And they are very punctilious, without wallets, notes, and without briefcases.

I should like the fields tinged with red, the rivers yellow and the trees painted blue. Nature has no imagination.

It is necessary to work, if not from inclination, at least from despair. Everything considered, work is less boring than amusing oneself.

the Devil's hand directs our every move - / the things we loathed become the things we love