She had had sweet dreams, which possibly arose from the fact that her little bed was very white.

Dry happiness is like dry bread. We eat, but we do not dine. I wish for the superfluous, for the useless, for the extravagant, for the too much, for that which is not good for anything.

It is by suffering that human beings become angels.

Beauty is as useful as the useful. More so, perhaps. (Le beau est aussi utile que l'utile. Plus peut-etre.)

We are all under sentence of death, but with a sort of indefinite reprieve.

The aim of art is almost divine: to bring to life again if it is writing history, to create if it is writing poetry.

Genius: the superhuman in man.