The immense appetite we have for biography comes from a deep-seated sense of equality.

How little remains of the man I once was, save the memory of him! But remembering is only a new form of suffering.

Forest, I fear you! In my ruined heart your roaring wakens the same agony as in cathedrals when the organ moans and from the depths I hear that I am damned.

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

That which is not slightly distorted lacks sensible appeal; from which it follows that irregularity – that is to say, the unexpected, surprise and astonishment, are a essential part and characteristic of beauty.

Genius is childhood recalled at will.

The cannon thunders... limbs fly in all directions... one can hear the groans of victims and the howling of those performing the sacrifice... it's Humanity in search of happiness.