Remembering is only a new form of suffering.

Our squalid society rushed, Narcissus to a man, to gaze on its trivial image on a scrap of metal.

In our corruption we perceive beauties unrevealed to ancient times.

I love to watch the fine mist of the night come on, The windows and the stars illumined, one by one, The rivers of dark smoke pour upward lazily, And the moon rise and turn them silver. I shall see The springs, the summers, and the autumns slowly pass; And when old Winter puts his blank face to the glass, I shall close all my shutters, pull the curtains tight, And build me stately palaces by candlelight.

Always be a poet, even in prose.

The unique and supreme voluptuousness of love lies in the certainty of committing evil. And men and women know from birth that in evil is found all sensual delight.

My soul travels on the smell of perfume like the souls of other men on music.