The world only goes round by misunderstanding.
I felt passing over me the wind of the wing of madness.
The habit of doing one's duty drives away fear.
Cats, so strong and gentle, the pride of the household.
My heart is lost; the beasts have eaten it.
Everything for me becomes allegory
Inspiration comes of working every day.
The whole visible universe is but a storehouse of images and signs to which the imagination will give a relative place and value; it is a sort of pasture which the imagination must digest and transform.
Imagination is an almost divine faculty which, without recourse to any philosophical method, immediately perceives everything: the secret and intimate connections between things, correspondences and analogies.
To be a great man and a saint to oneself, that's the only important thing.
Love is the natural occupation of the man of leisure.
The Poet is like the prince of the clouds, who haunts the tempest and laughs at the archer. Exiled on the ground in the midst of the jeering crowd, his giant's wings keep him from walking.
The more one works, the better one works, and the more one wants to work. The more one produces, the more fertile one grows.
Torture, as the art of discovering the truth, is barbaric nonsense; it is the application of a material means to a spiritual end.
Beware of all the paradoxical in love. It is simplicity which saves, it is simplicity which brings happiness...Love should be love.
There is a certain cowardice, a certain weakness, rather, among respectable folk. Only brigands are convinced-of what? That they must succeed. And so they do succeed.
The lover of life makes the whole world into his family, just as the lover of the fair sex creates his from all the lovely women he has found, from those that could be found, and those who are impossible to find.
There exist certain individuals who are, by nature, given purely to contemplation and are utterly unsuited to action, and who, nevertheless, under a mysterious and unknown impulse, sometimes act with a speed which they themselves would have thought beyond them.
Sexuality is the lyricism of the masses.
The more a man cultivates the arts the less he fornicates. A more and more apparent cleavage occurs between the spirit and the brute.
Nearly all our originality comes from the stamp that time impresses upon our sensibility.
How many years of fatigue and punishment it takes to learn the simple truth that work, that disagreeable thing, is the only way of not suffering in life, or at all events, of suffering less.
The will to work must dominate, for art is long and time is brief.
A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counselor, a multitude of counselors.
Unable to suppress love, the Church wanted at least to disinfect it, and it created marriage.
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