We must listen to poets.

Actually, however, life begins less by reaching upward, than by turning upon itself. But what a marvelously insidious, subtle image of life a coiling vital principle would be! And how many dreams the leftward oriented shell, or one that did not conform to the rotation of its species, would inspire!

So, like a forgotten fire, a childhood can always flare up again within us.

If there is any realm where distinction is especially difficult, it is the realm of childhood memories, the realm of beloved images harbored in memory since childhood. These memories which live by the image and in virtue of the image become, at certain times of our lives and particularly during the quiet age, the origin and matter of a complex reverie: the memory dreams, and reverie remembers.

The reverie would not last if it were not nourished by the images of the sweetness of living, by the illusions of happiness.

The reveries of two solitary souls prepare the sweetness of loving.

Poetry is one of the destinies of speech... One would say that the poetic image, in its newness, opens a future to language.