I am a cemetery abhorred by the moon, In which long worms crawl like remorse.

There exist only three beings worthy of respect: the priest, the soldier, the poet. To know, to kill, to create.

Genius is childhood recalled at will.

I throw fresh seeds out. Who knows what survives?

By nature, by necessity itself, [primitive man] is encyclopedic, while civilized man finds himself confined in the infinitely small regions of specialization.

Forest, I fear you! In my ruined heart your roaring wakens the same agony as in cathedrals when the organ moans and from the depths I hear that I am damned.

Here comes the time when, vibrating on its stem, every flower fumes like a censer; noises and perfumes circle in the evening air.