Je sais la douleur est la noblesse unique O u' ne mordront jamais la terre et les enfers. I know that pain is the one nobility upon which Hell itself cannot encroach.

Strangeness is a necessary ingredient in beauty.

Nothing can be done except little by little.

To say the word Romanticism is to say modern art - that is, intimacy, spirituality, color, aspiration towards the infinite, expressed by every means available to the arts.

God is the only being who, in order to reign, doesn't even need to exist.

Dance can reveal everything mysterious that is hidden in music

The man who says his evening prayer is a captain posting his sentinels. He can sleep.

The devil's finest trick is to persuade you that he does not exist.

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.

A book is a garden, an orchard, a storehouse, a party, a company by the way, a counselor, a multitude of counselors.

Music fathoms the sky.

It is an undoubted truth that the neck and throat of a highbred woman are incomparably more beautiful than in the woman of lower origin. Blood will tell

The measure of your solitude is the measure of your capacity for communion.

Does not people's preoccupation these days with drugs, alcohol, medication and self deception prove that the truth not only hurts, but it is torture to bear?

When you're willing to do what you're unqualified to do, that's what qualifies you.

If I could only get people to rub my belly for good lucky and then throw money in my fountain, it'd be a perfect world.

I'm not a big method actor. I'm much more superficial.

The stallion and his mare, unbridled, with arrow-pattern, are worked on. the blue cloth before the door of religion and inspiration.

For your own good is a persuasive argument that will eventually make a man agree to his own destruction.

In truth, the more we lean into life, the more we authentically interact with the world, the brighter our flame.

Coleridge received the Person from Porlock And ever after called him a curse, Then why did he hurry to let him in? He could have hid in the house.