Inspiration? - a hoax fabricated by poets for their self-importance.
Beauty, real beauty, is something very grave. If there is a God, He must be partly that.
Death is beautiful. It alone gives love its true habitat.
Obligations, hatreds, injuries; what did I expect my memories to be? I was forgetting remorse. Now I have a complete past.
Inspiration is a farce that poets have invented to give themselves importance.
Nothing is irreparable in politics.