One doesn't read poetry while thinking of other things.
The words of the world want to make sentences.
The repose of sleep refreshes only the body. It rarely sets the soul at rest. The repose of the night does not belong to us. It is not the possession of our being. Sleep opens within us an inn for phantoms. In the morning we must sweep out the shadows.
It is better to live in a state of impermanence than in one of finality.
So, like a forgotten fire, a childhood can always flare up again within us.
A house that has been experienced is not an inert box. Inhabited space transcends geometrical space.