I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls.
La solitude est l’indépendance, je l’avais souhaitée et acquise au cours de longues années. Elle était froide, oh! oui, mais elle était calme, merveilleusement calme et immense comme l’espace silencieux et glacé où tournent les astres.
I know a girl who just looks at her face in the medicine cabinet mirror and never looks below her shoulders, and she’s four or five hundred pounds but she doesn’t see all that, she just sees a beautiful face and therefore she thinks she’s a beauty. And therefore, I think she’s a beauty, too, because I usually accept people on the basis of their self-images, because their self-images have more to do with the way they think than their objective-images do.
beau idéal [bou ee-duh-ahl]
(noun) A French loanword, a beau idéal is a conception of absolute beauty. It is the ideal beauty, which epitomizes the notion of “beautifulness” as an abstract ideal. It symbolizes the perfect type or model: a person or thing, which has reached the highest standard of excellence in any aspect.