The Poetic Image Is A Sudden Salience

Dreaming By The River, I Dedicated My Imagination To Water, To Clear, Green Water, The Water That Makes The Meadows Green.

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.

A Pretext-not A Cause-is Sufficient For Us To Enter The "solitary Situation", The Situation Of The Dreaming Solitude. In This Solitude, Memories Arrange Themselves In Tableaux. Decor Takes Precedence Over Drama. Sad Memories Take On At Least The Peace Of Melancholy.

A Book Is Always An Emergence Above Everyday Life. A Book Is Expressed Life And Thus Is An Addition To Life.

To Go Upstairs In The Word House Is To Withdraw Step By Step; While To Go Down To The Cellar Is To Dream.