The deplorable mania of doubt exhausts me. I doubt about everything, even my doubts.

Happy are they who don't doubt themselves and whose pens fly across the page. I myself hesitate, I falter, I become angry and fearful, my drive diminishes as my taste improves, and I brood more over an ill-suited word than I rejoice over a well-proportioned paragraph.

Doubt … is an illness that comes from knowledge and leads to madness.

By trying to understand everything, everything makes me dream

I have come to have the firm conviction that vanity is the basis of everything, and finally that what one calls conscience is only inner vanity.

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