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.

Like everybody else, when I don't know what else to do, I seem to go in for catching colds.

Criticism is the windows and chandeliers of art: it illuminates the enveloping darkness in which art might otherwise rest only vaguely discernible, and perhaps altogether unseen.

To speak of morals in art is to speak of legislature in sex. Art is the sex of the imagination.

A man may be said to love most truly that woman in whose company he can feel drowsy in comfort.

The notion that as a man grows older his illusions leave him is not quite true. What is true is that his early illusions are supplanted by new, and to him, equally convincing illusions.

An optimist is a fellow who believes a housefly is looking for a way to get out.