There are moments of existence when time and space are more profound, and the awareness of existence is immensely heightened.
Modernity is the transient, the fleeting, the contingent; it is one half of art, the other being the eternal and the immovable.
I sit in the sky like a sphinx misunderstood; My heart of snow is wed to the whiteness of swans; I hate the movement that displaces the rigid lines, With lips untaught neither tears nor laughter do I know.
Forest, I fear you! In my ruined heart your roaring wakens the same agony as in cathedrals when the organ moans and from the depths I hear that I am damned.
Common sense tells us that the things of the earth exist only a little, and that true reality is only in dreams.
The old Paris is no more (the form of a city changes faster, alas! than a mortal's heart).