A city becomes a world when one loves one of its inhabitants.
It’s only with great vulgarity that you can achieve real refinement, only out of bawdry that you can get tenderness.
We are all hunting for rational reasons for believing in the absurd.
People only see in us the contemptible skirt-fever which rules our actions but completely miss the beauty-hunger underlying it.
To write a poem is like trying to catch a lizard without its tail falling off.
The realisation of one's own death is the point at which one becomes adult.