What a mysterious faculty is that queen of the faculties!
Modernity is the transient, the fleeting, the contingent; it is one half of art, the other being the eternal and the immovable.
It is from the womb of art that criticism was born.
In putting off what one has to do, one runs the risk of never being able to do it.
What is irritating about love is that it is a crime that requires an accomplice.
We are all born marked for evil.