The Reflected World Is The

We Comfort Ourselves By Reliving Memories Of Protection. Something Closed Must Retain Our Memories, While Leaving Them Their Original Value As Images. Memories Of The Outside World Will Never Have The Same Tonality As Those Of Home And, By Recalling These Memories, We Add To Our Store Of Dreams; We Are Never Real Historians, But Always Near Poets, And Our Emotion Is Perhaps Nothing But An Expression Of A Poetry That Was Lost.

The Image Can Only Be Studied Through The Image, By Dreaming Images As They Gather In Reverie. It Is A Non-sense To Claim To Study Imagination Objectively Since One Really Receives The Image Only If He Admires It. Already In Comparing One Image To Another, One Runs The Risk Of Losing Participation In Its Individuality.

There Are Children Who Will Leave A Game To Go And Be Bored In A Corner Of The Garret. How Often Have I Wished For The Attic Of My Boredom When The Complications Of Life Made Me Lose The Very Germ Of Freedom!

One Must Always Maintain One's Connection To The Past And Yet Ceaselessly Pull Away From It. To Remain In Touch With The Past Requires A Love Of Memory. To Remain In Touch With The Past Requires A Constant Imaginative Effort.

Imagination Is A Tree. It Has The Integrative Virtues Of A Tree. It Is Root And Boughs. It Lives Between Earth And Sky. It Lives In The Earth And The Wind. The Imagined Tree Imperceptibly Becomes A Cosmological Tree, The Tree Which Epitomises A Universe, Which Makes A Universe.