If photography is allowed to supplement art in some of its functions, it will soon have supplanted or corrupted it altogether, thanks to the stupidity of the multitude which is its natural ally.

Poetry and progress are like two ambitious men who hate one another with an instinctive hatred, and when they meet upon the same road, one of them has to give place.

Everything for me becomes allegory

It is by universal misunderstanding that all agree. For if, by ill luck, people understood each other, they would never agree.

There is no dream of love, however ideal it may be, which does not end up with a fat, greedy baby hanging from the breast.

Finer than any sand are dusts of gold that gleam, Vague starpoints, in the mystic iris of their eyes.

I sit in the sky like a sphinx misunderstood; My heart of snow is wed to the whiteness of swans; I hate the movement that displaces the rigid lines, With lips untaught neither tears nor laughter do I know.