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.

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

Every corner in a house, every angle in a room, every inch of secluded space in which we like to hide, or withdraw into ourselves, is a symbol of solitude for the imagination; that is to say, it is the germ of a room, or of a house.

An excess of childhood is the germ of a poem.

Our house is our corner of the world.

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.

Air is the very substance of our freedom, the substance of superhuman joy.... aerial joy is freedom.