It Will Always Be A

The Repose Of Sleep Refreshes Only The Body. It Rarely Sets The Soul At Rest. The Repose Of The Night Does Not Belong To Us. It Is Not The Possession Of Our Being. Sleep Opens Within Us An Inn For Phantoms. In The Morning We Must Sweep Out The Shadows.

The Blank Page Gives Us The Right To Dream.

For A Knowledge Of Intimacy, Localization In The Spaces Of Our Intimacy Is More Urgent Than Determination Of Dates.

Any Comparison Diminishes The Expressive Qualities Of The Terms Of The Comparison.

A Universe Comes To Contribute To Our Happiness When Reverie Comes To Accentuate Our Repose. You Must Tell The Man Who Wants To Dream Well To Begin By Being Happy. Then Reverie Plays Out Its Veritable Destiny; It Becomes Poetic Reverie And By It, In It, Everything Becomes Beautiful. If The Dreamer Had "the Gift" He Would Turn His Reverie Into A Work. And This Work Would Be Grandiose Since The Dreamed World Is Automatically Grandiose.