Desiring always to be in mourning, he clothed himself with night.

Mirrors, those revealers of the truth, are hated; that does not prevent them from being of use.

Well, for us, in history where goodness is a rare pearl, he who was good almost takes precedence over he who was great.

The heart becomes heroic through passion. It is no longer composed of anything but what is pure; it no longer rests upon anything but what is elevated and great.

Primitive times are lyrical, ancient times epical, modern times dramatic. The ode sings of eternity, the epic imparts solemnity tohistory, the drama depicts life. The characteristic of the first poetry is ingeniousness, of the second, simplicity, of the third, truth.

The smaller it is the heart, more hatred houses.

When two mouths, made sacred by love, draw near to each other to create, it is impossible, that above that ineffable kiss there should not be a thrill in the immense mystery of the stars.