Life swarms with innocent monsters.

When a singer puts his hand on his heart, it means usually, I will always love you!

That in all times, mediocrity has dominated, that is indubitable; but that it reigns more than ever, that it is becoming absolutely triumphant and inhibiting, this is what is as true as it is distressing.

Life has but one true charm: the charm of the game. But what if we’re indifferent to whether we win or lose?

It is one of the prodigious privileges of art that the horrific, artistically expressed, becomes beauty, and that sorrow, given rhythm and cadence, fills the spirit with a calm joy.

If the poet has pursued a moral objective, he has diminished his poetic force.

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