He possessed the logic of all good intentions and a knowledge of all the tricks of his trade, and yet he never succeeded at anything, because he believed too much in the impossible. Surprising? Why so? He was forever in the act of conceiving it!
On the vaporization and the centralization of the Self. All is there.
It is this admirable and immortal instinct for beauty which causes us to regard the earth and its spectacles as a glimpse, a correspondence of the beyond.
...and the lamp having at last resigned itself to death. There was nothing now but firelight in the room, And every time a flame uttered a gasp for breath It flushed her amber skin with the blood of its bloom.
One must work, if not from inclination, at least out of despair — since it proves, on close examination, that work is less boring than amusing oneself.
Life is a hospital in which every patient is possessed by a desire to change his bed.
It is the pleasure of astonishing others, and the proud satisfaction of never being astonished by them.
The priest is an immense being because he makes the crowd believe astonishing things.
Today I felt pass over me A breath of wind from the wings of madness.
In my mind it strolls, as well as in my apartment. A cat, strong, sweet and delightful.
It's the devil who pulls the strings that make us dance
The idea of beauty which man creates for himself imprints itself on his whole attire, crumples or stiffens his dress, rounds off or squares his gesture, and in the long run even ends by subtly penetrating the very features of his face. Man ends by looking like his ideal self. These engravings can be translated either into beauty or ugliness; in one direction, they become caricatures, in the other, antique statues.
Do you remember the sight we saw, my soul, that soft summer morning round a turning in the path, the disgusting carcass on a bed scattered with stones, its legs in the air like a woman in need burning its wedding poisons like a fountain with its rhythmic sobs, I could hear it clearly flowing with a long murmuring sound, but I touch my body in vain to find the wound. I am the vampire of my own heart, one of the great outcasts condemned to eternal laughter who can no longer smile. Am I dead? I must be dead.
Art is an infinitely precious good, a draught both refreshing and cheering which restores the stomach and the mind to the natural equilibrium of the ideal.
In art, there is one thing which does not receive sufficient attention. The element which is left to the human will is not nearly so large as people think.
All fashions are charming, or rather relatively charming, each one being a new striving, more or less well conceived, after beauty, an approximate statement of an ideal, the desire for which constantly teases the unsatisfied human mind.
A precious liquid, a poison dearer than that of the Borgias - because it is made from our blood, our health, our sleep, and two-thirds of our love - we must be stingy with it.
Nature is a word, an allegory, a mold, an embossing, if you will.
For the merchant, even honesty is a financial speculation.
Everything, alas, is an abyss, actions, desires, dreams, words!
A child sees everything in a sense of newness - he is always drunk. Genius is nothing but childhood re-attained at will.
A frenzied passion for art is a canker that devours everything else.
Genius is simply childhood, rediscovered by an act of will.
For each letter received from a creditor, write fifty lines on an extraterrestrial subject and you will be saved.
I am a cemetery by the moon unblessed.
Follow AzQuotes on Facebook, Twitter and Google+. Every day we present the best quotes! Improve yourself, find your inspiration, share with friends
or simply: