Life is a hospital in which every patient is possessed by a desire to change his bed.

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

Dance can reveal everything mysterious that is hidden in music

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

Alas! Man's vices, horrible as they are supposed to be, contain the positive proof of his taste for the infinite.

The idea which man forms of beauty imprints itself throughout his attire, rumples or stiffens his garments, rounds off or aligns his gestures, and, finally, even subtly penetrates the features of his face.

I should like the fields tinged with red, the rivers yellow and the trees painted blue. Nature has no imagination.