The Reveries Of Two Solitary Souls Prepare

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.

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.

Even A Minor Event In The Life Of A Child Is An Event Of That Child's World And Thus A World Event.

I Am Alone So I Dream Of The Being Who Has Cured My Solitude, Who Would Be Cured By Solitudes. With Its Life, It Brought Me The Idealizations Of Life, All The Idealizations Which Give Life A Double, Which Lead Life Toward It Summits, Which Make The Dreamer Too Live By Splitting.

The Words Of The World Want To Make Sentences.