Eternity: what a waste of time.
My only books were women's looks.
I love the love of those who are far enough away, it becomes whatever I wish to believe it.
A thought falls like a ripe fruit from the tree of idleness.
Our prejudices, our antipathies, are our natural defenses against what we could not assimilate.
All expression, all art, is an indiscretion we commit against ourselves. This is not an 'impoverishment' but an increase in wealth, for it is in this way that we make the short hours of our lives live on beyond themselves.