The public wants work which flatters its illusions.

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

If you knew all the dreams I've dreamed!

Melancholy is a sensual pleasure that is deliberately provoked. How many people shut themselves away to make themselves sadder, or to weep beside a stream, or choose a sentimental book! We are constantly building and unbuilding ourselves.

The morality of art is in its very beauty.

But the most wretched thing, is it not-is to drag out, as I do, a useless existence. If our pains were only of some use to someone, we should find consolation in the thought of the sacrifice.

The more humanity advances, the more it is degraded.