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 art of genius is knowing how far out is too far.
The joy of youth is to disobey; but the trouble is that there are no longer any orders.
To be audacious with tact, you have to know to what point you can go too far.
What uniform can I wear to hide my heavy heart? It is too heavy. It will always show. Jacques felt himself growing gloomy again. He was well aware that to live on earth a man must follow its fashions, and hearts were no longer worn.
Watch yourself all your life in a mirror and you'll see Death at work like bees in a glass hive.
Perhaps I know to what extent I can go too far.
Compromise yourself. Obscure your own trail.
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.
The smell of opium is the least stupid smell in the world.
How our old friend [Michelangelo] of the Sistine would have loved to photograph his workers, perched on the fragile planks. Dali was right to say Leonardo only worked from photographs.
Art is science made flesh.
Alas! I do not believe that inspiration falls from heaven. think it rather the result of a profound indolence.
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.
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 history after all? History is facts which become lies in the end.
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