Woman is a vulgar animal from whom man has created an excessively beautiful ideal.

There are neither good nor bad subjects. From the point of view of pure Art, you could almost establish it as an axiom that the subject is irrelevant, style itself being an absolute manner of seeing things.

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.

They took each other's advice, opened one book, went over to another, then did not know what to decide when opinions diverged so widely.

She would have liked not to be alive, or to be always asleep.

I have come to have the firm conviction that vanity is the basis of everything, and finally that what one calls conscience is only inner vanity.

I do not like to "interest" the public with myself.