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

Even in the centuries which appear to us to be the most monstrous and foolish, the immortal appetite for beauty has always found satisfaction.

However incoherent a human existence may be, human unity is not bothered by it.

Delacroix was passionately in love with passion, but coldly determined to express passion as clearly as possible.

The insatiable thirst for everything that lies beyond, and that life reveals, is the most living proof of our immortality.

Soon we will plunge ourselves into cold shadows, and all of summer's stunning afternoons will be gone. I already hear the dead thuds of logs below falling on the cobblestones and the lawn.

In certain almost supernatural states of the soul, the profundity of life reveals itself entirely in the spectacle, however ordinary it may be, before one's eyes. It becomes its symbol.