Without poets, without artists... everything would fall apart into chaos. There would be no more seasons, no more civilizations, no more thought, no more humanity, no more life even; and impotent darkness would reign forever. Poets and artists together determine the features of their age, and the future meekly conforms to their edit.

Twentieth pupil of the centuries knows its stuff and bird-changed this century like Jesus climbs the sky.

In this mirror, I am enclosed a live and real as you. Imagine angels and not like the reflections.

I love men, not for what unites them, but for what divides them, and I want to know most of all what gnaws at their hearts.

A structure becomes architectural, and not sculptural, when its elements no longer have their justification in nature.

To insist on purity is to baptize instinct, to humanize art, and to deify personality.

Without poets, without artists, men would soon weary of nature's monotony.