Genius is nothing more nor less than childhood recaptured at will.
This life is a hospital where every patient is possessed with the desire to change beds; one man would like to suffer in front of the stove, and another believes that he would recover his health beside the window.
Remembering is only a new form of suffering.
Even as a child I felt in my heart two opposite emotions: the horror of life and the ecstasy of life.
Those men get along best with women who can get along best without them.
Evil is committed without effort, naturally, fatally; goodness is always the product of some art.
We love women in proportion to their degree of strangeness to us.
Life swarms with innocent monsters.
Strangeness is the indispensable condiment of all beauty.
Any man who does not accept the conditions of life sells his soul.
Through the Unknown, we'll find the New
I can barely conceive of a type of beauty in which there is no Melancholy.
The more one works, the better one works, and the more one wants to work. The more one produces, the more fertile one grows.
Immediate work, even poor, is worth more than dreams.
Always be drunk ... Get drunk militantly. Just get drunk.
One should always be drunk. That's all that matters...But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.
The beautiful is always bizarre.
Progress, this great heresy of decay.
No task is a long one but the task on which one dare not start. It becomes a nightmare.
The world only goes round by misunderstanding.
All forms of beauty, like all possible phenomena, contain an element of the eternal and an element of the transitory - of the absolute and of the particular. Absolute and eternal beauty does not exist, or rather it is only an abstraction creamed from the general surface of different beauties. The particular element in each manifestation comes from the emotions: and just as we have our own particular emotions, so we have our own beauty.
An oasis of horror in a desert of boredom.
The man who says his evening prayer is a captain posting his sentinels. He can sleep.
What is love? The need of coming out of one's self.
A silent mouth is sweet to hear.
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