The blank page gives us the right to dream.

The cleverer I am at miniaturizing the world, the better I possess it.

Poetry is one of the destinies of speech... One would say that the poetic image, in its newness, opens a future to language.

The human being taken in his profound reality as well as in his great tension of becoming is a divided being, a being which divides again, having permitted himself the illusion of unity for barely an instant. He divides and then reunites.

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

Dreaming by the river, I dedicated my imagination to water, to clear, green water, the water that makes the meadows green.

Why should the actions of the imagination not be as real as those of perception?