I know nothing more noble than the contemplation of the world.

I go from exasperation to a state of collapse, then I recover and go from prostration to Fury, so that my average state is one of being annoyed.

Sentences must stir in a book like leaves in a forest, each distinct from each despite their resemblance.

I like prostitution. My heart has never failed to pound at the sight of one of those provocatively dressed women walking in the rain under the gaslamps, just as the sight of monks in their robes and girdles touches some ascetic, hidden corner of my soul.

Here is true immorality: ignorance and stupidity; the devil is nothing but this. His name is Legion.

In her enthusiasms she had always looked for something tangible: she had always loved church for its flowers, music for its romantic words, literature for its power to stir the passions and she rebelled before the mysteries of faith just as she grew ever more restive under discipline, which was antipathetic to her nature.

There is not a particle of life which does not bear poetry within it