Who would dare assign to art the sterile function of imitating nature?

What can an eternity of damnation matter to someone who has felt, if only for a second, the infinity of delight?

It is regrettable that, among the Rights of Man, the right of contradicting oneself has been forgotten.

I felt passing over me the wind of the wing of madness.

Woman is natural, that is to say, abominable.

Where one should see only what is beautiful, our public looks only for what is true.

I will drop into your chest like a vegetal ambrosia. I will be the grain that regenerates the cruelly plowed furrow. Poetry will be born of our intimate union. A god we shall create together, and we shall soar heavenward like sunbeams, perfumes, butterflies, birds, and all winged things.