The Poet is like the prince of the clouds, who haunts the tempest and laughs at the archer. Exiled on the ground in the midst of the jeering crowd, his giant's wings keep him from walking.

The photographic industry was the refuge of all the painters who couldn't make it, either because they had no talent or because they were too lazy to finish their studies. Hence this universal infatuation was not only characterized by blindness and stupidity, but also by vindictiveness.

To handle a language skillfully is to practice a kind of evocative sorcery.

Go then, a starveling girl With no perfume or pearls, Only your nudity O my beauty!

Modernity is the transient, the fleeting, the contingent; it is one half of art, the other being the eternal and the immovable.

I have more memories than if I were a thousand years old.

The old Paris is no more (the form of a city changes faster, alas! than a mortal's heart).