Imagination is a tree. It has the integrative virtues of a tree. It is root and boughs. It lives between earth and sky. It lives in the earth and the wind. The imagined tree imperceptibly becomes a cosmological tree, the tree which epitomises a universe, which makes a universe.

When the image is new, the world is new.

To verify images kills them, and it is always more enriching to imagine than to experience.

We are never real historians, but always near poets, and our emotion is perhaps nothing but an expression of a poetry that was lost.

The only possible proof of the existence of water, the most convincing and the most intimately true proof, is thirst.

The cleverer I am at miniaturizing the world, the better I possess it.

The human being taken in his profound reality as well as in his great tension of becoming is a divided being, a being which divides again, having permitted himself the illusion of unity for barely an instant. He divides and then reunites.