In literature as in ethics, there is danger, as well as glory, in being subtle. Aristocracy isolates us.

What strange phenomena we find in a great city, all we need do is stroll about with our eyes open. Life swarms with innocent monsters.

When it meows, one scarcely hears it... It has not the need of words to speak the lengthiest phraseologies.

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

If photography is allowed to supplement art in some of its functions, it will soon have supplanted or corrupted it altogether, thanks to the stupidity of the multitude which is its natural ally.

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

For me, Romanticism is the most recent and the most current expression of beauty.