He never went out without a book under his arm, and he often came back with two.

Each man should frame life so that at some future hour fact and his dreaming meet.

There is no more sovereign eloquence than the truth in indignation.

Ma vie est une énigme dont ton nom est le mot. (My life is an enigma, of which your name is the word.)

In the opera we call love, the libretto is almost nothing.

What matters deafness of the ear, when the mind hears? The one true deafness, the incurable deafness, is that of the mind.

The fact is that the beautiful, humanly speaking, is merely form considered in its simplest aspect, in its most perfect symmetry, in its most entire harmony with our make-up. Thus the ensemble that it offers us is always complete, but restricted like ourselves. What we call the ugly, on the contrary, is a detail of a great whole which eludes us, and which is in harmony, not with man but with all creation. That is why it constantly presents itself to us in new but incomplete aspects.