This industry [photography], by invading the territories of art, has become art's most mortal enemy.

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

Today I had a strange warning. I felt the wind of insanity brush my mind.

Evil is committed without effort, naturally, fatally; goodness is always the product of some art.

Alas, human vices, however horrible one might imagine them to be, contain the proof (were it only in their infinite expansion) of man's longing for the infinite; but it is a longing that often takes the wrong route. It is my belief that the reason behind all culpable excesses lies in this depravation of the sense of the infinite.

But a dandy can never be a vulgar man

A study of the Great Malady; horror of home.