The poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able to be himself and others, as he wishes.

Genius is nothing more or less than childhood recovered by will, a childhood how equipped for self-expression with an adult's capacities.

To the solemn graves, near a lonely cemetery, my heart like a muffled drum is beating funeral marches.

Romanticism is precisely situated neither in choice of subject, nor exact truth, but in the way of feeling.

Here comes the time when, vibrating on its stem, every flower fumes like a censer; noises and perfumes circle in the evening air.

You walk on corpses, beauty, undismayed.

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.