Where are the dogs going? you people who pay so little attention ask. They are going about their business. And they are very punctilious, without wallets, notes, and without briefcases.

Perfumes, colours and sounds echo one another.

Photographers, you will never become artists. All you are is mere copiers.

What men call love is a very small, restricted, feeble thing compared with this ineffable orgy, this divine prostitution of the soul giving itself entire, all its poetry and all its charity, to the unexpected as it comes along, to the stranger as he passes.

It is the pleasure of astonishing others, and the proud satisfaction of never being astonished by them.

The dance can reveal everything mysterious that is hidden in music, and it has the additional merit of being human and palpable. Dancing is poetry with arms and legs.

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