Sometimes he used a spade in his garden, and sometimes he read and wrote. He had but one name for these two kinds of labor; he called them gardening. ‘The Spirit is a garden,’ said he

Dear God! how beauty varies in nature and art. In a woman the flesh must be like marble; in a statue the marble must be like flesh.

He who contemplates the depths of Paris is seized with vertigo. Nothing is more fantastic. Nothing is more tragic. Nothing is more sublime.

I will be Chateaubriand or nothing.

Youth is the future smiling at a stranger, which is itself.

Hell is an outrage on humanity. When you tell me that your deity made you in his image, I reply that he must have been very ugly.

During a wise man's whole life, his destiny holds his philosophy in a state of siege.