I Am Bored In France Because Everyone

A Dandy Does Nothing.

An Artist Is An Artist Only Because Of His Exquisite Sense Of Beauty, A Sense Which Shows Him Intoxicating Pleasures, But Which At The Same Time Implies And Contains An Equally Exquisite Sense Of All Deformities And All Disproportion.

The Devil Pulls The Strings Which Make Us Dance; We Find Delight In The Most Loathsome Things; Some Furtherance Of Hell Each New Day Brings, And Yet We Feel No Horror In That Rank Advance.

Multitude, Solitude: Equal And Interchangeable Terms For The Active And Prolific Poet.

I Throw Fresh Seeds Out. Who Knows What Survives?