The true voyagers are those who go for the sake of traveling . . . and without quite knowing why, they say, 'Let us depart!'.

You walk on corpses, beauty, undismayed.

Romanticism is precisely situated neither in choice of subject, nor exact truth, but in the way of feeling.

And, drunk with my own madness, I shouted at him furiously, "Make life beautiful! Make life beautiful!

Always be a poet, even in prose.

Always be drunk ... Get drunk militantly. Just get drunk.

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?