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.

True Poetry Is A Function Of Awakening. It Awakens Us, But It Must Retain The Memory Of Previous Dreams.

An Excess Of Childhood Is The Germ Of A Poem.

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.

To Feel Most Beautifully Alive Means To Be Reading Something Beautiful.