Melancholy Is A Sensual Pleasure That Is

One Mustn't Look At The Abyss, Because There Is At The Bottom An Inexpressible Charm Which Attracts Us.

It Is An Excellent Habit To Look At Things As So Many Symbols.

And He Beholds The Moon; Like A Rounded Fragment Of Ice Filled With Motionless Light.

One Never Tires Of What Is Well Written, Style Is Life! It Is The Very Blood Of Thought!

He Loved A Book Because It Was A Book; He Loved Its Odor, Its Form, Its Title. What He Loved In A Manuscript Was Its Old Illegible Date, The Bizarre And Strange Gothic Characters, The Heavy Gilding Which Loaded Its Drawings. It Was Its Pages Covered With Dust — Dust Of Which He Breathed The Sweet And Tender Perfume With Delight.