The poetic image […] is not an echo of the past. On the contrary: through the brilliance of any image, the distant past resounds with echoes.

We understand nature by resisting it.

The blank page gives us the right to dream.

I am alone so I dream of the being who has cured my solitude, who would be cured by solitudes. With its life, it brought me the idealizations of life, all the idealizations which give life a double, which lead life toward it summits, which make the dreamer too live by splitting.

The best proof of the specificity of the book is that it is at once a reality of the virtual and a virtuality of the real.

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

All the senses awaken and fall into harmony in poetic reverie. Poetic reverie listens to this polyphony of the senses, and the poetic consciousness must record it.