Prose Is Like Hair; It Shines With

To Be Simple Is No Small Matter.

We Should Not Touch Our Idols: Their Gilding Will Remain On Our Hands.

One Mustn't Ask Apple Trees For Oranges, France For Sun, Women For Love, Life For Happiness.

Do Not Imagine You Can Exorcise What Oppresses You In Life By Giving Vent To It In Art.

For Every Bourgeois, In The Heat Of Youth, If Only For A Day, For A Minute, Has Believed Himself Capable Of Immense Passions, Of Heroic Enterprises. The Most Mediocre Libertine Has Dreamed Of Oriental Princesses; Every Rotary Carries About Inside Him The Debris Of A Poet.