The real connoisseurs in art are those who make people accept as beautiful something everybody used to consider ugly, by revealing and resuscitating the beauty in it.

That which, perhaps, hears more nonsense than anything in the world, is a picture in a museum.

Only a woman of the world is a woman; the rest are females.

There are two infinities in this world: God up above, and down below, human baseness.

A human being sheds its leaves like a tree. Sickness prunes it down; and it no longer offers the same silhouette to the eyes which loved it, to the people to whom it afforded shade and comfort.

History is a novel which did take place; a novel is history that could take place.

The real connoisseurs in art are those who make people accept as beautiful something everybody used to consider ugly, by revealing and resuscitating the beauty in it.