I watch the springs, the summers, the autumns; And when comes the winter snow monotonous, I shut all the doors and shutters To build in the night my fairy palace.

What can an eternity of damnation matter to someone who has felt, if only for a second, the infinity of delight?

It is necessary to work, if not from inclination, at least from despair. Everything considered, work is less boring than amusing oneself.

Genius is no more than childhood recaptured at will, childhood equipped now with man's physical means to express itself, and with the analytical mind that enables it to bring order into the sum of experience, involuntarily amassed.

Nature... is nothing but the inner voice of self-interest.

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.

The world only goes round by misunderstanding.