Art Is Science Made Flesh.

The Louvre Is A Morgue; You Go There To Identify Your Friends.

Mirrors Would Do Well To Reflect A Little More Before Sending Back Images.

Do As The Beautiful Woman: See To Your Figure And Your Petticoats. Though, Of Course, I Am Not Speaking Literally.

I Succeeded In Bewitching A Fair Number And In Being Intoxicated With My Mistakes.

Poetry Is An Ethic. By Ethic I Mean A Secret Code Of Behavior, A Discipline Constructed And Conducted According To The Capabilities Of A Man Who Rejects The Falsifications Of The Categorical Imperative.