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.

Extract the eternal from the ephemeral.

God is the only being who, in order to reign, doesn't even need to exist.

I have cultivated my hysteria with delight and terror. Now I suffer continually from vertigo, and today, 23rd of January, 1862, I have received a singular warning, I have felt the wind of the wing of madness pass over me.

When it meows, one scarcely hears it... It has not the need of words to speak the lengthiest phraseologies.

A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counselor, a multitude of counselors.

In putting off what one has to do, one runs the risk of never being able to do it.