Drink wine, drink poetry, drink virtue.

What could be more simple and more complex, more obvious and more profound than a portrait.

There is a word, in a verb, something sacred which forbids us from using it recklessly. To handle a language cunningly is to practice a kind of evocative sorcery.

Strangeness is the indispensable condiment of all beauty.

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

Woman is natural, that is to say, abominable.

Nature is a temple in which living columns sometimes emit confused words. Man approaches it through forests of symbols, which observe him with familiar glances.