Through The Unknown, We'll Find The New

It Is Unfortunately Very True That, Without Leisure And Money, Love Can Be No More Than An Orgy Of The Common Man. Instead Of Being A Sudden Impulse Full Of Ardor And Reverie, It Becomes A Distastefully Utilitarian Affair.

Where One Should See Only What Is Beautiful, Our Public Looks Only For What Is True.

In Our Corruption We Perceive Beauties Unrevealed To Ancient Times.

It Is From The Womb Of Art That Criticism Was Born.

To Be Away From Home And Yet To Feel Oneself Everywhere At Home; To See The World, To Be At The Centre Of The World, And Yet To Remain Hidden From The World—impartial Natures Which The Tongue Can But Clumsily Define. The Spectator Is A Prince Who Everywhere Rejoices In His Incognito.