To the solemn graves, near a lonely cemetery, my heart like a muffled drum is beating funeral marches.

Woman is natural, that is to say, abominable.

Even in the centuries which appear to us to be the most monstrous and foolish, the immortal appetite for beauty has always found satisfaction.

Sexuality is the lyricism of the masses.

There are as many kinds of beauty as there are habitual ways of seeking happiness.

The priest is an immense being because he makes the crowd believe astonishing things.

There exist certain individuals who are, by nature, given purely to contemplation and are utterly unsuited to action, and who, nevertheless, under a mysterious and unknown impulse, sometimes act with a speed which they themselves would have thought beyond them.