So, I never lose a sense of the whimsical and perilous charm of daily life, with its meetings and words and accidents.

He who goes against the fashion is himself its slave

I find a fascination, like the fascination for the moth of a star, in those who hold aloof and disdain me.

How it infuriates a bigot, when he is forced to drag out his dark convictions!

The lusts and greeds of the body scandalize the Soul; but it has to come to heel.

Every author, however modest, keeps a most outrageous vanity chained like a madman in the padded cell of his breast.

What things there are to write, if one could only write them! My mind is full of gleaming thought; gay moods and mysterious, moth-like meditations hover in my imagination, fanning their painted wings. But always the rarest, those streaked with azure and the deepest crimson, flutter away beyond my reach.