There can be no progress-real, moral prgress-except in the individual and by the individual himself.
A work of art should be like a well-planned crime.
What is irritating about love is that it is a crime that requires an accomplice.
I watch the springs, the summers, the autumns; And when comes the winter snow monotonous, I shut all the doors and shutters To build in the night my fairy palace.
Life swarms with innocent monsters.
Extract the eternal from the ephemeral.