Perfumes, colours and sounds echo one another.

One should always be drunk. That's all that matters...But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.

My heart is lost; the beasts have eaten it.

A multitude of small delights constitute happiness

My soul travels on the smell of perfume like the souls of other men on music.

There can be no progress-real, moral prgress-except in the individual and by the individual himself.

I throw fresh seeds out. Who knows what survives?