You walk on corpses, beauty, undismayed.
I am bored in France because everyone resembles Voltaire.
The world only goes round by misunderstanding.
Every healthy man can do without food for two days — but without poetry, never!
The vices of man, as full of horror as one might suppose them to be, contain the proof (if in nothing else but their infinitely expandable nature) of his taste for the infinite; only, it is a taste that often takes a wrong turn.
Art is an infinitely precious good, a draught both refreshing and cheering which restores the stomach and the mind to the natural equilibrium of the ideal.