Every Corner In A House, Every Angle

A Clear Conscience Is, For Me, An Occupied Conscience-never Empty-the Conscience Of A Man At Work Until His Last Breath.

To Live Life Well Is To Express Life Poorly; If One Expresses Life Too Well, One Is Living It No Longer.

By Listening To Certain Words As A Child Listens To The Sea In A Seashell, A Word Dreamer Hears The Murmur Of A World Of Dreams.

If There Is Any Realm Where Distinction Is Especially Difficult, It Is The Realm Of Childhood Memories, The Realm Of Beloved Images Harbored In Memory Since Childhood. These Memories Which Live By The Image And In Virtue Of The Image Become, At Certain Times Of Our Lives And Particularly During The Quiet Age, The Origin And Matter Of A Complex Reverie: The Memory Dreams, And Reverie Remembers.

The Reverie We Intend To Study Is Poetic Reverie. This Is A Reverie Which Poetry Puts On The Right Track, The Track An Expanding Consciousness Follows. This Reverie Is Written, Or, At Least, Promises To Be Written. It Is Already Facing The Great Universe Of The Blank Page. Then Images Begin To Compose And Fall Into Place.