I am unable to understand how a man of honor could take a newspaper in his hands without a shudder of disgust.

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But what does it matter what reality is outside myself, so long as it has helped me to live, to feel that I am, and what I am?

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All which is beautiful and noble is the result of reason and calculation.

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Evil is committed without effort, naturally, fatally; goodness is always the product of some art.

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I can barely conceive a type of beauty in which there is no melancholy.

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Let us beware of common folk, common sense, sentiment, inspiration, and the obvious.

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The insatiable thirst for everything which lies beyond, & which life reveals is the most living proof of our immortality.

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I can barely conceive of a type of beauty in which there is no Melancholy.

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No task is a long one but the task on which one dare not start. It becomes a nightmare.

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I should like the fields tinged with red, the rivers yellow and the trees painted blue. Nature has no imagination.

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