The word realist means nothing to me, because I would subordinate reality to temperament. Give me what is true and I applaud; but give me what is individual and alive and I applaud even more.

What will be the death of me are buillabaisses, food spiced with pimiento, shellfish, and a load of exquisite rubbish which I eat in disproportionate quantities.

The camembert with its venison scent defeats the Marolles and Limbourg dull smells; It spreads its exhalation, smothering the other scents under its surprising breath abundance.

The day is not far off when one ordinary carrot may be pregnant with revolution.

There are two men inside the artist, the poet and the craftsman. One is born a poet. One becomes a craftsman.

Respectable people... What bastards!

The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without work.