Do you remember the sight we saw, my soul, that soft summer morning round a turning in the path, the disgusting carcass on a bed scattered with stones, its legs in the air like a woman in need burning its wedding poisons like a fountain with its rhythmic sobs, I could hear it clearly flowing with a long murmuring sound, but I touch my body in vain to find the wound. I am the vampire of my own heart, one of the great outcasts condemned to eternal laughter who can no longer smile. Am I dead? I must be dead.

I am bored in France because everyone resembles Voltaire.

It is the pleasure of astonishing others, and the proud satisfaction of never being astonished by them.

A man who drinks only water has a secret to hide from his fellow men.

You are sitting and smoking; you believe that you are sitting in your pipe, and that your pipe is smoking you; you are exhaling yourself in bluish clouds. You feel just fine in this position, and only one thing gives you worry or concern: how will you ever be able to get out of your pipe?

There is no more steely barb than that of the Infinite.

Alas! Man's vices, horrible as they are supposed to be, contain the positive proof of his taste for the infinite.