The runner stopped dead, lost his balance, froze in one of those violent attitudes in which the photographers petrify living reality.
Mirrors would do well to reflect a little more before sending back images.
The poet doesn't invent. He listens.
one should always talk well about oneself! The word spreads around and in the end, noone remembers where it started
Do not take up cause against the inaccuracies printed about you. They are your protection.
The Louvre is a morgue; you go there to identify your friends.
Statues to great men are made of the stones thrown at them in their lifetime.
Artists can no more speak about their work, than plants can speak about horticulture.
One sits down first; one thinks afterwards.
Good music resembles something. It resembles the composer.
The joy of youth is to disobey; but the trouble is that there are no longer any orders.
Alas! I do not believe that inspiration falls from heaven. think it rather the result of a profound indolence.
Art is science made flesh.
The art of genius is knowing how far out is too far.
In exiling myself I am not exiling a monster, but a man whom society will not allow to live, since it considers one of the mysterious cogs in God's masterpiece to be a mistake.
To be audacious with tact, you have to know to what point you can go too far.
The composer opens the cage door for arithmetic, the draftsman gives geometry its freedom.
The ultimate politeness in art consists of speaking only to those who are able to uncover and measure its relationships. Anything else is symbolic, and symbolism is merely transcendental imagery.
All spiritual journeys are martyrdoms
What is history after all? History is facts which become lies in the end.
He has the manner of a giant with the look of a child, a lazy activeness, a mad wisdom, a solitude encompassing the world.
What is style? For many people, a very complicated way of saying very simple things. According to us, a very simple way of saying very complicated things.
The smell of opium is the least stupid smell in the world.
A child's reaction to this type of calamity is twofold and extreme. Not knowing how deeply, powerfully, life drops anchor into its vast sources of recuperation, he is bound to envisage, at once, the very worst; yet at the same time, because of his inability to imagine death, the worst remains totally unreal to him. Gerard went on repeating: "Paul's dying; Paul's going to die"' but he did not believe it. Paul's death would be part of the dream, a dream of snow, of journeying forever.
Compromise yourself. Obscure your own trail.
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