What is exhilarating in bad taste is the aristocratic pleasure of giving offense.
Strangeness is a necessary ingredient in beauty.
God is the only being who, in order to reign, doesn't even need to exist.
From that moment onwards, our loathsome society rushed, like Narcissus, to contemplate its trivial image on a metallic plate. A form of lunacy, an extraordinary fanaticism took hold of these new sun-worshippers.
What is irritating about love is that it is a crime that requires an accomplice.
Always be a poet, even in prose.