I tried to discover, in the rumor of forests and waves, words that other men could not hear, and I pricked up my ears to listen to the revelation of their harmony.

The artist must be in his work as God is in creation, invisible and all-powerful; one must sense him everywhere but never see him.

The true poet for me is a priest. As soon as he dons the cassock, he must leave his family.

I invite all brats to throw their cookies at the baker's head if they're not sweet, winos to chuck their wine if it's bad, the dying to shuck their souls when they croak, and men to throw their existence in God's face when it's bitter

Better to work for yourself alone. You do as you like and follow your own ideas, you admire yourself and please yourself: isn’t that the main thing? And then the public is so stupid. Besides, who reads? And what do they read? And what do they admire?

By trying to understand everything, everything makes me dream

Snicker on hearing his name: 'the gentleman who thinks we are descended from the apes.'