Ideas Are Refined And Multiplied In The

There Are Reveries So Deep, Reveries Which Help Us Descend So Deeply Within Ourselves That They Rid Us Of Our History. They Liberate Us From Our Name. These Solitudes Of Today Return Us To The Original Solitudes.

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.

Very Often, I Confess, The Teller Of Dreams Bores Me. His Dream Could Perhaps Interest Me If It Were Frankly Worked On. But To Hear A Glorious Tale Of His Insanity! I Have Not Yet Clarified, Psychoanalytically, This Boredom During The Recital Of Other People's Dreams. Perhaps I Have Retained The Stiffness Of A Rationalist. I Do Not Follow The Tale Of Justified Incoherence Docilely. I Always Suspect That Part Of The Stupidities Being Recounted Are Invented.

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.

Thanks To His Complex Convictions, Made Strong With The Forces Of Animus And Anima, The Alchemist Believes He Is Seizing The Soul Of The World, Participating In The Soul Of The World. Thus, From The World To The Man, Alchemy Is A Problem Of Souls.