What could be more simple and more complex, more obvious and more profound than a portrait.

Within the bottle's depths, the wine's soul sang one night. Drink wine, drink poetry, drink virtue.

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

He who looks through an open window sees fewer things than he who looks through a closed window.

The more a man cultivates the arts the less he fornicates. A more and more apparent cleavage occurs between the spirit and the brute.

There exist only three beings worthy of respect: the priest, the soldier, the poet. To know, to kill, to create.

Finer than any sand are dusts of gold that gleam, Vague starpoints, in the mystic iris of their eyes.