Dancing can reveal all the mystery that music conceals.
What is art? Prostitution.
Anybody, providing he knows how to be amusing, has the right to talk about himself.
The true voyagers are those who go for the sake of traveling . . . and without quite knowing why, they say, 'Let us depart!'.
To be away from home and yet to feel oneself everywhere at home; to see the world, to be at the centre of the world, and yet to remain hidden from the world—impartial natures which the tongue can but clumsily define. The spectator is a prince who everywhere rejoices in his incognito.
It is the greatest art of the devil to convince us he does not exist.
It is time to get drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of Time, get drunk; get drunk without stopping! On wine, on poetry, or on virtue, as you wish.
The study of beauty is a duel in which the artist cries out in terror before he is defeated.
Here comes the time when, vibrating on its stem, every flower fumes like a censer; noises and perfumes circle in the evening air.
Drink wine, drink poetry, drink virtue.
In our corruption we perceive beauties unrevealed to ancient times.
There is no such thing as a long piece of work, except one that you dare not start.
Romanticism is precisely situated neither in choice of subject, nor exact truth, but in the way of feeling.
With wine, poetry, or virtue as you choose. But get drunk.
There are in every man, always, two simultaneous allegiances, one to God, the other to Satan. Invocation of God, or Spirituality, is a desire to climb higher; that of Satan, or animality, is delight in descent.
Multitude, solitude: equal and interchangeable terms for the active and prolific poet.
The man who says his evening prayer is a captain posting his sentinels. He can sleep.
So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, be endlessly drunk.
Strangeness is an ingredient necessary in beauty.
There are but three beings worthy of respect: the priest, the warrior and the poet. To know, to kill and to create. The rest of mankind may be taxed and drudged, they are born for the stable, that is to say, to practise what they call professions.
It is unfortunately very true that, without leisure and money, love can be no more than an orgy of the common man. Instead of being a sudden impulse full of ardor and reverie, it becomes a distastefully utilitarian affair.
A man who drinks only water has a secret to hide from his fellow men.
However incoherent a human existence may be, human unity is not bothered by it.
Finer than any sand are dusts of gold that gleam, Vague starpoints, in the mystic iris of their eyes.
Nothing in a portrait is a matter of indifference. Gesture, grimace, clothing, decor even - all must combine to realize a character.
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