I should like the fields tinged with red, the rivers yellow and the trees painted blue. Nature has no imagination.

Hypocrite reader my fellow my brother!

There is no more steely barb than that of the Infinite.

In this horror of solitude, this need to lose his ego in exterior flesh, which man calls grandly the need for love.

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

There exist certain individuals who are, by nature, given purely to contemplation and are utterly unsuited to action, and who, nevertheless, under a mysterious and unknown impulse, sometimes act with a speed which they themselves would have thought beyond them.

The artist is today and has been for many years, despite his absence of merit, simply a spoiled child. So many honors, so much money bestowed on men without souls and without education.