The whole visible universe is but a storehouse of images and signs to which the imagination will give a relative place and value; it is a sort of pasture which the imagination must digest and transform.

It is unfortunately very true that, without leisure and money, love can be no more than an orgy of the common man. Instead of being a sudden impulse full of ardor and reverie, it becomes a distastefully utilitarian affair.

A precious liquid, a poison dearer than that of the Borgias - because it is made from our blood, our health, our sleep, and two-thirds of our love - we must be stingy with it.

He who looks through an open window sees fewer things than he who looks through a closed window.

It is from the womb of art that criticism was born.

Genius is simply childhood, rediscovered by an act of will.

However incoherent a human existence may be, human unity is not bothered by it.