France is not poetic; she even feels, in fact, a congenital horror of poetry. Among the writers who use verse, those whom she will always prefer are the most prosaic.
Inspiration comes of working every day.
It is from the womb of art that criticism was born.
There is no more steely barb than that of the Infinite.
Sexuality is the lyricism of the masses.
Any man who does not accept the conditions of life sells his soul.
