The taste for pleasure attaches us to the present. The concern with our salvation leaves us hanging on the future.

Any man who does not accept the conditions of life sells his soul.

There is a word, in a verb, something sacred which forbids us from using it recklessly. To handle a language cunningly is to practice a kind of evocative sorcery.

Love is a taste for prostitution. In fact, there is no noble pleasure that cannot be reduced to Prostitution.

Poetry has no goal other than itself; it can have no other, and no poem will be so great, so noble, so truly worthy of the name of poem, than one written uniquely for the pleasure of writing a poem.

All the visible universe is nothing but a shop of images and signs.

Life swarms with innocent monsters.