Oh, the fools, like a lot of good little schoolboys, scared to death of anything they’ve been taught is wrong! L'Œuvre (1886)
The past was but the cemetery of our illusions: one simply stubbed one’s toes on the gravestones. L'Œuvre (1886)
The thing is, work has simply swamped my whole existence. ... It’s like a germ planted in the skull that devours the brain, spreads to the trunk and the limbs, and destroys the entire body in time. L'Œuvre (1886)
What was Art, after all, if not simply giving out what you have inside you? Didn’t it all boil down to sticking a female in front of you and painting her as you feel she is? L'Œuvre (1886)