You Walk On Corpses, Beauty, Undismayed.

Imagination Is An Almost Divine Faculty Which, Without Recourse To Any Philosophical Method, Immediately Perceives Everything: The Secret And Intimate Connections Between Things, Correspondences And Analogies.

Evil Is Done Without Effort, Naturally, It's Destiny; Good Is Always The Product Of Skill.

My Soul Travels On The Smell Of Perfume Like The Souls Of Other Men On Music.

I Can Barely Conceive Of A Type Of Beauty In Which There Is No Melancholy.

The Son Will Run Away From The Family Not At Eighteen But At Twelve, Emancipated By His Gluttonous Precocity; He Will Fly Not To Seek Heroic Adventures, Not To Deliver A Beautiful Prisoner From A Tower, Not To Immortalize A Garret With Sublime Thoughts, But To Found A Business, To Enrich Himself And To Compete With His Infamous Papa.