The cinema is death at work.

Love is mainly an affair of short spasms. If these spasms disappoint us, love dies. It is very seldom that it weathers the experience and becomes friendship.

History is a combination of reality and lies. The reality of History becomes a lie. The unreality of the fable becomes the truth.

Whatever the public blames you for, cultivate it; it is yourself.

Do as the beautiful woman: see to your figure and your petticoats. Though, of course, I am not speaking literally.

And history becomes legend and legend becomes history.

Every poem is a coat of arms. It must be deciphered. How much blood, how many tears in exchange for these axes, these muzzles, these unicorns, these torches, these towers, these martlets, these seedlings of stars and these fields of blue!