Life has but one true charm: the charm of the game. But what if we’re indifferent to whether we win or lose?

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I can barely conceive a type of beauty in which there is no melancholy.

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

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Genius is nothing more nor less than childhood recaptured at will.

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Passion I hate, and spirit does me wrong. Let us love gently.

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I should like the fields tinged with red, the rivers yellow and the trees painted blue. Nature has no imagination.

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All which is beautiful and noble is the result of reason and calculation.

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Let us beware of common folk, common sense, sentiment, inspiration, and the obvious.

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Unable to suppress love, the Church wanted at least to disinfect it, and it created marriage.

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The immense appetite we have for biography comes from a deep-seated sense of equality.

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