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

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

To reduce the imagination to a state of slavery --even though it would mean the elimination of what is commonly called happiness --is to betray all sense of absolute justice within oneself. Imagination alone offers me some intimation of what can be.

The important thing is that man is lost in time, in the moment that immediately precedes him - which only attests, by reflection, to the fact that he is lost in the moment that follows

How small these rescued tides appear! Earthly delights flow in torrents. Each object offers paradise.

What is admirable about the fantastic is that there is no longer anything fantastic: there is only the real.

I am the soul in limbo.