One arrives at style only with atrocious effort, with fanatical and devoted stubbornness.

I hate that which we have decided to call realism, even though I have been made one of its high priests.

The true poet for me is a priest. As soon as he dons the cassock, he must leave his family.

And so I will take back up my poor life, so plain and so tranquil, where phrases are adventures and the only flowers I gather aremetaphors.