A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counselor, a multitude of counselors.

For the merchant, even honesty is a financial speculation.

My soul travels on the smell of perfume like the souls of other men on music.

The more a man cultivates the arts the less he fornicates. A more and more apparent cleavage occurs between the spirit and the brute.

In this horror of solitude, this need to lose his ego in exterior flesh, which man calls grandly the need for love.

I think I would be happy in that place I happen not to be, and this question of moving house is the subject of a perpetual dialogue I have with my soul.

La, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté Luxe, calme et volupté There, there is nothing else but grace and measure, Richness, quietness, and pleasure.