Nothing about me surprises me.

Glory is the sunshine of the dead

Your women of fashion ceases to be a woman. She is neither mother, nor wife, nor lover. She is, medically speaking, sex on the brain.

A letter is a soul, so faithful an echo of the speaking voice that to the sensitive it is among the richest treasures of love.

In painting, you can suddenly come upon something so huge that no-one can deal with it.

Events are never absolute, their outcome depends entirely upon the individual.

Our heart is a treasury; if you pour out all its wealth at once, you are bankrupt.