Art Is Nothing Without Form.

We Have All Been Beaten! Each One Has To Bear His Misfortune! Resign Yourself!

The True Poet For Me Is A Priest. As Soon As He Dons The Cassock, He Must Leave His Family.

She Wanted To Die, But She Also Wanted To Live In Paris.

The More You Approach Infinity, The Deeper You Penetrate Terror

Casting Aspersions On Those We Love Always Does Something To Loosen Our Ties. We Shouldn't Maltreat Our Idols: The Gilt Comes Off On Our Hands.