One Must Not Mistake Majority For Truth.

The Poet Doesn't Invent. He Listens.

Love Is Mainly An Affair Of Short Spasms. If These Spasms Disappoint Us, Love Dies. It Is Very Seldom That It Weathers The Experience And Becomes Friendship.

Statues To Great Men Are Made Of The Stones Thrown At Them In Their Lifetime.

Without Opium, Plans, Marriages And Journeys Appear To Me Just As Foolish As If Someone Falling Out Of A Window Were To Hope To Make Friends With The Occupants Of The Room Before Which He Passes.

The Public Is Never Pleased With What We Do, Wanting Always A Copy Of What We Have Done.