Who am I? If this once I were to rely on a proverb, then perhaps everything would amount to knowing whom I 'haunt.'

The clouds were disappearing rapidly, leaving the stars to die. The night dried up.

Artistic imagination must remain free. It is by definition free from any fidelity to circumstances, especially to the intoxicating circumstances of history.

There are fairy stories to be written for adults. Stories that are still in a green state.

All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.

Beauty will be convulsive or will not be at all.

Over and above the various prejudices I acknowledge, the affinities I feel, the attractions I succumb to, the events which occur to me and to me alone- over and above a sum of movements I am conscious of making, of emotions I alone experience- I strive, in relation to other men, to discover the nature, if not the necessity, of my difference from them. Is it not precisely to the degree I become conscious of this difference that I shall recognize what I alone have been put on this earth to do, what unique message I alone may bear, so that I alone can answer for its fate?