A work of art is the unique result of a unique temperament. Its beauty comes from the fact that the author is what he is. It has nothing to do with the fact that other people want what they want.

To get into the best society, nowadays, one has either to feed people, amuse people, or shock people - that is all!

I walk the world in wonder.

When people talk to me about the weather, I always feel they mean something else.

Nobody of any real culture, for instance, ever talks nowadays about the beauty of sunset. Sunsets are quite old fashioned. To admire them is a distinct sign of provincialism of temperament. Upon the other hand they go on.

It is sweet to dance to violins When love and life are fair: To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes Is delicate and rare: But it is not sweet with nimble feet To dance upon the air!

Now it seems to me that love of some kind is the only possible explanation of the extraordinary amount of suffering that there is in the world.