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

To go upstairs in the word house is to withdraw step by step; while to go down to the cellar is to dream.

The subconscious is ceaselessly murmuring, and it is by listening to these murmurs that one hears its truth.

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.

He who ceases to learn cannot adequately teach.

To live life well is to express life poorly; if one expresses life too well, one is living it no longer.

Sometimes the house of the future is better built, lighter and larger than all the houses of the past, so that the image of the dream house is opposed to that of the childhood home. Late in life, with indomitable courage, we continue to say that we are going to do what we have not yet done: we are going to build a house. This dream house may be merely a dream of ownership, the embodiment of everything that is considered convenient, comfortable, healthy, sound, desirable, by other people. It must therefore satisfy both pride and reason, two irreconcilable terms.