If you knew all the dreams I've dreamed!

There was an air of indifference about them, a calm produced by the gratification of every passion; and through their manners were suave, one could sense beneath them that special brutality which comes from the habit of breaking down half-hearted resistances that keep one fit and tickle one’s vanity—the handling of blooded horses, the pursuit of loose women.

For him the universe did not extend beyond the circumference of her petticoat.

I go dreaming into the future, where I see nothing, nothing. I have no plans, no idea, no project, and, what is worse, no ambition. Something – the eternal ‘what’s the use?’ – sets its bronze barrier across every avenue that I open up in the realm of hypothesis.

A man is a critic when he cannot be an artist, in the same way that a man becomes an informer when he cannot be a soldier.

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

One mustn't always believe that feeling is everything. In the arts, it is nothing without form.