It’s hard to communicate anything exactly and that’s why perfect relationships between people are difficult to find.
As humanity perfects itself, man becomes degraded. When everything is reduced to the mere counter-balancing of economic interests, what room will there be for virtue? When Nature has been so subjugated that she has lost all her original forms, where will that leave the plastic arts? And so on. In the mean time, things are going to get very murky.
But how nothingness invades us! We are scarcely born ere decay begins for us, in such a way that the whole of life is but one long combat with it, more and more triumphant, on its part, to the consummation, namely, death; and then the reign of decay is exclusive.
To return to antiquity [in literature]: that has been done. To return to the Middle Ages: that too has been done. Remains the present day. But the ground is shaky: so where can you set the foundations? An answer to this question must be found if one is to produce anything vital and hence lasting. All this disturbs me so much that I no longer like to be spoken to about it.
How we keep these dead souls in our hearts. Each one of us carries within himself his necropolis.
The one way of tolerating existence is to lose oneself in literature as in a perpetual orgy.
received the cross of the Legion of Honour.
The sight of so many ruins destroys any desire to build shanties; all this ancient dust makes one indifferent to fame.
When you are some-‘one’, why would you wish to be some-‘thing’?
Nothing is more humiliating than to see idiots succeed in enterprises we have failed in.