Passion I hate, and spirit does me wrong. Let us love gently.

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

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He who looks through an open window sees fewer things than he who looks through a closed window.

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

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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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Genius is nothing more nor less than childhood recaptured at will.

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A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counselor, a multitude of counselors.

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As a small child, I felt in my heart two contradictory feelings, the horror of life and the ecstasy of life.

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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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