So, Like A Forgotten Fire,

The Human Being Taken In His Profound Reality As Well As In His Great Tension Of Becoming Is A Divided Being, A Being Which Divides Again, Having Permitted Himself The Illusion Of Unity For Barely An Instant. He Divides And Then Reunites.

In Contrast To A Dream A Reverie Cannot Be Recounted. To Be Communicated, It Must Be Written, Written With Emotion And Taste, Being Relived All The More Strongly Because It Is Being Written Down. Here, We Are Touching The Realm Of Written Love. It Is Going Out Of Fashion, But The Benefits Remain. There Are Still Souls For Whom Love Is The Contact Of Two Poetries, The Fusion Of Two Reveries.

The Philosophy Of Poetry Must Acknowledge That The Poetic Act Has No Past, At Least No Recent Past, In Which Its Preparation And Appearance Could Be Followed.

Every Corner In A House, Every Angle In A Room, Every Inch Of Secluded Space In Which We Like To Hide, Or Withdraw Into Ourselves, Is A Symbol Of Solitude For The Imagination; That Is To Say, It Is The Germ Of A Room, Or Of A House.

The Cleverer I Am At Miniaturizing The World, The Better I Possess It.