God is the only being who, in order to reign, doesn't even need to exist.
If the poet has pursued a moral objective, he has diminished his poetic force.
Even when she walks one would believe that she dances.
Dancing is poetry with arms and legs.
The dandy should aspire to be uninterruptedly sublime. He should live and sleep in front of a mirror.
What can an eternity of damnation matter to someone who has felt, if only for a second, the infinity of delight?