I do not cut my life up into days but my days into lives, each day, each hour, an entire life.

Rodin picks a mushroom delighted, and shows it to Madame Rodin... "Look," he says excitedly, "and that takes but a single night! In one night all these are made, all these lamellas. That is good work."

The urban man is an uprooted tree, he can put out leaves, flowers and grow fruit but what a nostalgia his leaf, flower, and fruit will always have for mother earth!

I unpetalled you, like a rose, to see your soul, and I didn't see it. But everything around -horizons of land and of seas-, everything, out to the infinite, was filled with a fragrance, enormous and alive.

The background reveals the true being and state of being of the man or thing. If I do not possess the background, I make the man transparent, the thing transparent.

Sharp nostalgia, infinite and terrible, for what I already possess.

A fantasy can be equivalent to a paradise and if the fantasy passes, better yet, because eternal paradise would be very boring.