Always be drunk ... Get drunk militantly. Just get drunk.

Go then, a starveling girl With no perfume or pearls, Only your nudity O my beauty!

We love women in proportion to their degree of strangeness to us.

Nature is a temple, where the living Columns sometimes breathe confusing speech; Man walks within these groves of symbols, each Of which regards him as a kindred thing.

To handle a language skillfully is to practice a kind of evocative sorcery.

The idea which man forms of beauty imprints itself throughout his attire, rumples or stiffens his garments, rounds off or aligns his gestures, and, finally, even subtly penetrates the features of his face.

It is the pleasure of astonishing others, and the proud satisfaction of never being astonished by them.