Love demands infinitely less than friendship.

It may be said that artist and censor differ in this wise: that the first is a decent mind in an indecent body and that the second is an indecent mind in a decent body.

Criticism is the art of appraising others at one's own value.

Common sense, in so far as it exists, is all for the bourgeoisie. Nonsense is the privilege of the aristocracy. The worries of the world are for the common people.

A life spent in constant labor is a life wasted, save a man be such a fool as to regard a fulsome obituary notice as ample reward.

It is also said of me that I now and then contradict myself. Yes, I improve wonderfully as time goes on.

All that is necessary to raise imbecility into what the mob regards as profundity is to lift it off the floor and put it on a platform.