My soul is nothing now but the dream dreamt by matter struggling with itself!

Fidelity to meaning alone in translation is a kind of betrayal.

Long years must pass before the truths we have made for ourselves become our very flesh.

From the moment that photography appeared, the descriptive genre began to invade Letters... In verse as in prose the décor and exterior aspects of life took an almost excessive place.

History is the science of things which are not repeated.

War: a massacre of people who don't know each other for the profit of people who know each other but don't massacre each other.

To hit someone means to adopt his point of view.