The vices of man, as full of horror as one might suppose them to be, contain the proof (if in nothing else but their infinitely expandable nature) of his taste for the infinite; only, it is a taste that often takes a wrong turn.

If the word doesn't exist, invent it; but first be sure it doesn't exist.

A man who drinks only water has a secret to hide from his fellow men.

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

There are as many kinds of beauty as there are habitual ways of seeking happiness.

What I say is that the supreme and singular joy of making love resides in the certainty of doing evil.

I think I would be happy in that place I happen not to be, and this question of moving house is the subject of a perpetual dialogue I have with my soul.