I tell you there is no such thing as creative hate!
Where there is great love, there are always miracles.
That is happiness to be dissolved into something complete and great.
There is only one big thing-desire. And before it when it is big all is little.
Prayers said by good people are always good prayers
The fact that I was a girl never damaged my ambitions to be a pope or an emperor.
All the intelligence and talent in the world can't make a singer. The voice is a wild thing. It can't be bred in captivity. It is a sport, like the silver fox. It happens.
The stupid believe that to be truthful is easy only the artist, the great artist, knows how difficult it is.
The condition every art requires is, not so much freedom from restriction, as freedom from adulteration and from the intrusion of foreign matter.
The pale, cold light of the winter sunset did not beautify - it was like the light of truth itself. When the smoky clouds hung low in the west and the red sun went down behind them, leaving a pink flu...
Only solitary men know the full joys of frienship. Others have their family but to a solitary and an exile, his friends are everything.
As he stood there lost in reflection, Auclair thought he seemed more like a man revolving plans for a new struggle with fortune than one looking back upon a life of brilliant features. The Count had t...
What was any art but a mold to imprison for a moment the shining elusive element which is life itself- life hurrying past us and running away, to strong to stop, too sweet to lose.
That is happiness: to be dissolved into something completely great.
Paris is a hard place to leave, even when it rains incessantly and one coughs continually from the dampness.
I sat down in the middle of the garden, where snakes could scarcely approach unseen, and leaned my back against a warm yellow pumpkin. There were some ground-cherry bushes growing along the furrows, f...
It does not matter much whom we live with in this world, but it matters a great deal whom we dream of.
If there were no girls like them in the world, there would be no poetry
What was any art but a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining elusive element which is life itself - life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose.
Some memories are realities and are better than anything that can ever happen to one again.