Artists can no more speak about their work, than plants can speak about horticulture.

In Paris, everybody wants to be an actor; nobody is content to be a spectator.

He who is affected by an insult is infected by it.

What uniform can I wear to hide my heavy heart? It is too heavy. It will always show. Jacques felt himself growing gloomy again. He was well aware that to live on earth a man must follow its fashions, and hearts were no longer worn.

Alas! I do not believe that inspiration falls from heaven. think it rather the result of a profound indolence.

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!

A true poet does not bother to be poetical. Nor does a nursery gardener scent his roses.