True poetry is a function of awakening. It awakens us, but it must retain the memory of previous dreams.

Of course, any simplification runs the risk of mutilating reality; but it helps us establish perspectives.

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.

Words, in their distant past, have the past of my reveries.

When the image is new, the world is new.

One must always maintain one's connection to the past and yet ceaselessly pull away from it. To remain in touch with the past requires a love of memory. To remain in touch with the past requires a constant imaginative effort.

Ideas are invented only as correctives to the past. Through repeated rectification of this kind one may hope to disengage an idea that is valid.