The summer night is like a perfection of thought.

The belief in poetry is a magnificent fury, or it is nothing.

Death is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers.

Death is the mother of Beauty; hence from her, alone, shall come fulfillment to our dreams and our desires.

If poetry should address itself to the same needs and aspirations, the same hopes and fears, to which the Bible addresses itself, it might rival it in distribution.

Thought is an infection. In the case of certain thoughts, it becomes an epidemic.

Success as a result of industry is a peasant's ideal.