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

It is better to live in a state of impermanence than in one of finality.

Literary imagination is an aesthetic object offered by a writer to a lover of books.

Of course, thanks to the house, a great many of our memories are housed, and if the house is a bit elaborate, if it has a cellar and a garret, nooks and corridors, our memories have refuges that are all the more clearly delineated. All our lives we come back to them in our daydreams. A psychoanalyst should, therefore, turn his attention to this simple localization of our memories. I should like to give the name of topoanalysis to this auxiliary of pyschoanalysis. Topoanalysis, then would be the systematic psychological study of the sites of our intimate lives.

Reverie is not a mind vacuum. It is rather the gift of an hour which knows the plenitude of the soul.

Irony gives us, at little expense, the impression that we are experienced psychologists.

Here is Menard's own intimate forest: 'Now I am traversed by bridle paths, under the seal of sun and shade...I live in great density...Shelter lures me. I slump down into the thick foliage...In the forest, I am my entire self. Everything is possible in my heart just as it is in the hiding places in ravines. Thickly wooded distance separates me from moral codes and cities.