Tea - that perfume that one drinks, that connecting hyphen.
With renunciation life begins.
At first, when an idea, a poem, or the desire to write takes hold of you, work is a pleasure, a delight, and your enthusiasm knows no bounds. But later on you work with difficulty, doggedly, desperately. For once you have committed yourself to a particular work, inspiration changes its form and becomes an obsession, like a love-affair… which haunts you night and day! Once at grips with a work, we must master it completely before we can recover our idleness.
Seeking revenge: what a lack of foresight.
A good book is never exhausted; we are never exhausted by a good book.
Some people make it hard for me to believe in universal evolution.
Renouncement: the heroism of mediocrity.
albinos aren't reproached for having pink eyes and whitish hair, why should they hold it again me for being a lesbian? It's a question of nature: my queerness isn't a vice, isn't 'deliberate,' and harms no one.
Most virtue is a demand for greater seduction.
I judge people's charm by the ease with which I express myself in their presence.
To be one's own master is to be the slave of self.
Eternity - waste of time.
Would that well-thinking people should be replaced by thinking ones.
If we keep an open mind, too much is likely to fall into it.
Time engraves our faces with all the tears we have not shed.
It's necessary to use suffering. Otherwise, one is used by it.
One is not oneself every day-fortunately.
Indiscretion has always seemed to me to be one of the privileges of tact.
All expression, all art, is an indiscretion we commit against ourselves. This is not an 'impoverishment' but an increase in wealth, for it is in this way that we make the short hours of our lives live on beyond themselves.
If only art were as rare as good taste.
We are nearly all composed of such a complex mixture of human qualities that in each one of us reside both masculine and feminine principles: what man is without any female attribute and what woman never demonstrates any masculine characteristics?
There are. intangible realities which float near us, formless and without words; realities which no one has thought out, and which are excluded for lack of interpreters.
A scholar's heart is a dark well in which are buried many aborted feelings that rise to the surface as arguments.
doubt seems the only purity for those who are too fervent to deny, and too lucid to affirm.
My only books were women's looks.
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