The poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able to be himself and others, as he wishes.
A sweetheart is a bottle of wine, a wife is a wine bottle.
What a mysterious faculty is that queen of the faculties!
I can barely conceive of a type of beauty in which there is no Melancholy.
How little remains of the man I once was, save the memory of him! But remembering is only a new form of suffering.
All fashions are charming, or rather relatively charming, each one being a new striving, more or less well conceived, after beauty, an approximate statement of an ideal, the desire for which constantly teases the unsatisfied human mind.