Do not imagine you can exorcise what oppresses you in life by giving vent to it in art.

One never tires of what is well written, style is life! It is the very blood of thought!

The great natures which are good, are above everything generous and don't begrudge the giving of themselves.

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.

After the pain of this disappointment her heart once more stood empty, and the succession of identical days began again.

If you participate in life, you don’t see it clearly: you suffer from it too much or enjoy it too much. The artist, to my way of thinking, is a monstrosity, something outside nature. All the misfortunes Providence inflicts on him come from his stubborness in denying that maxim.

And the more he was irritated by her basic personality, the more he was drawn to her by a harsh, bestial sensuality, illusions of a moment, which ended in hate.