It would be difficult for me not to conclude that the most perfect type of masculine beauty is Satan, as portrayed by Milton.

La, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté Luxe, calme et volupté There, there is nothing else but grace and measure, Richness, quietness, and pleasure.

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

Nature is a temple in which living columns sometimes emit confused words. Man approaches it through forests of symbols, which observe him with familiar glances.

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

What a mysterious faculty is that queen of the faculties!

Today I felt pass over me A breath of wind from the wings of madness.