The son will run away from the family not at eighteen but at twelve, emancipated by his gluttonous precocity; he will fly not to seek heroic adventures, not to deliver a beautiful prisoner from a tower, not to immortalize a garret with sublime thoughts, but to found a business, to enrich himself and to compete with his infamous papa.

Even if it were proven that God didn't exist, Religion would still be Saintly and Divine.

Dancing is poetry with arms and legs.

In putting off what one has to do, one runs the risk of never being able to do it.

Nothing is as tedious as the limping days, When snowdrifts yearly cover all the ways, And ennui, sour fruit of incurious gloom, Assumes control of fate’s immortal loom

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

I have more memories than if I were a thousand years old.