A man's errors are what make him amiable.

Only the heart without a stain knows ease.

I am a part of the part that at first was all, part of the darkness that gave birth to the light, that supercilious light which now disputes with Mother Night her ancient rank and space, and yet cannot succeed; no matter how it struggles, it sticks to matter and can't get free. Light flows from substance, makes it beautiful.

A genuine work of art usually displeases at first sight, as it suggests a deficiency in the spectator.

After fifteen minutes nobody looks at a rainbow.

From desire I plunge to its fulfilment, where I long once more for desire.

Who longs in solitude to live, Ah! soon his wish will gain: Men hope and love, men get and give, and leave him to his pain.