An artist is only an artist on condition that he neglects no aspect of his dual nature. This dualism is the power of being oneself and someone else at one and the same time.

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.

Unable to suppress love, the Church wanted at least to disinfect it, and it created marriage.

Progress, this great heresy of decay.

There can be no progress-real, moral prgress-except in the individual and by the individual himself.

As the end of the century approaches, all our culture is like flies at the beginning of winter. Having lost their agility, dreamy and demented, they turn slowly about the window in the first icy mists of morning, . . . [then] they fall down the curtains.

Even as a child I felt in my heart two opposite emotions: the horror of life and the ecstasy of life.