The only possible proof of the existence of water, the most convincing and the most intimately true proof, is thirst.

Love is never finished expressing itself, and it expresses itself better the more poetically it is dreamed.

We comfort ourselves by reliving memories of protection. Something closed must retain our memories, while leaving them their original value as images. Memories of the outside world will never have the same tonality as those of home and, by recalling these memories, we add to our store of dreams; we are never real historians, but always near poets, and our emotion is perhaps nothing but an expression of a poetry that was lost.

Ideas are refined and multiplied in the commerce of minds. In their splendor, images effect a very simple communion of souls.

To verify images kills them, and it is always more enriching to imagine than to experience.

A universe comes to contribute to our happiness when reverie comes to accentuate our repose. You must tell the man who wants to dream well to begin by being happy. Then reverie plays out its veritable destiny; it becomes poetic reverie and by it, in it, everything becomes beautiful. If the dreamer had "the gift" he would turn his reverie into a work. And this work would be grandiose since the dreamed world is automatically grandiose.

Daydream transports the dreamer outside the immediate world to a world that bears the mark of infinity.