On The Day When A

This Industry [photography], By Invading The Territories Of Art, Has Become Art's Most Mortal Enemy.

As The End Of The Century Approaches, All Our Culture Is Like Flies At The Beginning Of Winter. Having Lost Their Agility, Dreamy And Demented, They Turn Slowly About The Window In The First Icy Mists Of Morning, . . . [then] They Fall Down The Curtains.

What A Mysterious Faculty Is That Queen Of The Faculties!

Il Faut E Pater Le Bourgeois. One Must Astound The Bourgeois.

Any Newspaper, From The First Line To The Last, Is Nothing But A Web Of Horrors, I Cannot Understand How An Innocent Hand Can Touch A Newspaper Without Convulsing In Disgust.